


Do It Right This Time

by doritoFace1q (orphan_account)



Series: Do It Right This Time [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angry teenagers, Better than the summary, Everybody conveniently ends up in Canada at the same time, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone has different names, Fluff, Historia Reiss & Levi Are Siblings, Levi Reiss theory, Lots of symbolism that you probably won't even notice, Mikasa Ackerman & Levi Are Related, Multi, Recovered Memories, Reunions, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2019-11-07 04:49:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 20,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17953904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/doritoFace1q
Summary: A world remade. No more wars, no more death, no more Titans. . .Oh, wait, there's a zombie, never mind.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my zombie apocalypse reincarnation AU! A lot better than the summary makes it sound, I (hope) promise!
> 
> Before you start, here are a few things to take note (har har) of:
> 
> 1\. Everybody will have different names; that's just how reincarnation works in my mind.
> 
> 2\. This universe is complicated. There's a lot of stuff that won't be made clear immediately. I will be posting some notes, later on, to help with that.
> 
> 3\. There will be M/M and F/F in here (no smut, just relationships). Don't like, don't read.
> 
> 4\. There will be a certain chapter format for this. If the chapter title is a roman numeral, then it means it's for the main story. If it has a character name, then it's going to be some backstory (If it's their new/reincarnated name, it'll probably be about their lives before remembering up to either that point or the apocalypse. If it's their original name, it'll be either about them living with their memories or them living in the apocalypse).
> 
> Enjoy!

His breaths came quick and short as he stumbled through the woods, crashing through the bushes and branches that whipped at his face, scratching the skin, the cuts stinging with pain as he continued running. He stumbled through the knee-high snow, moving as fast as he could without falling flat on his face. His heartbeat picked up, panicked gasps falling from his lips, throat tightening in fear as the growls and crashes grew louder behind him.

            His foot caught on a tree root, buried and hidden beneath the mass of white, and he stumbled, face-planting into the good foot and a half of snow. Soft as it was, he still winced as his chin bumped against the gnarled wood of the offending plant and he coughed as his mouth and nose filled with the ice-cold powder.

            A shock sprang through him as the crunch of snow and groans of his pursuers approached and he struggled up, forcing himself to stand and run even faster, lifting his legs ridiculously high to be able to get somewhere, _anywhere_ , without falling, pure adrenaline racing through his veins.

            Desperation, however, was not nearly enough to put up with the undying pursuit put up on him. _Undying_. Harou almost snorted at the irony of the thought – almost. A throbbing leg, burning lungs, and scratched skin, he could handle. What was really getting at him was the complete, utter, unbeatable _cold_. He had already been chilly that morning when he’d decided to risk a jaunt outside of his hidey-hole, and things had definitely not improved once a group of _them_ had spotted him (Smelled him? Heard him? How did they work, anyways? _They_ would have known) and gave chase. His skin had been freezing by the time he’d made it into the woods, and, now, after his tumble, he was practically numb all over, and they were _still freaking chasing him_.

            And, to put the symbolic cherry on top of his sundae of misfortune, he had dropped his gun. Not that it would have been much use anyways; the last time he’d hit a moving target, he’d been wielding dual blades and flying through the air at speeds high enough to give a pterodactyl whiplash.

            He gasped, snarling in frustration as he stumbled again, this time falling to his knees. He stayed. down for a moment, feeling around, cold, stiff fingers fumbling around in the biting snow before emerging with a rock about the size of a pomegranate. He forced himself to his feet again and lifted a leg to run once more –

            He shouted in shock as a cold, lifeless hand grabbed onto his ankle. He let out a gurgle of terror as he felt nails dig into the exposed flesh between the hem of his pants and his socks, and frantically reached out, going autopilot as he bashed the wrist of the hand holding him. There was a snap of breaking bones and he hit even harder, black, congealed blood splattering the ground around him. With a final simultaneous smash and jerk, there was a wet, crackly, ripping noise and Harou tore away, prying the detached hand off his ankle and tossing it away.

            Too long. The delay had taken too long. His ankle was throbbing – by the grace of some nameless, faceless god, no skin had been broken, but it still twinged from the startlingly strong grip. He was colder than ever, shivering in what he dearly hoped wasn’t the beginnings of hypothermia, and his adrenaline high had faded, leaving him with burning lungs, a throbbing foot, and a horde on his tail he had no way of getting away from.

            He grit his teeth, turning, raising his bloody rock. “Oh, what the hell,” he growled, a rumbling noise building in his ears. _What I’d give for some_ –

            “Get down!”

             The rumbling grew louder, and Harou was hit with the realization that the rumbling wasn’t growing in his ears, but, rather, behind him. He fell on his face just before a snowmobile all but drove over him, landing right in front of him. Harou kept his head down as bangs from a gun rang out, and groans tore from the throats of his pursuers as they fell.

            “Get up!” Harou scrambled to his feet, grabbing at the glove-clad hand reaching for him (Lucky bastard – he was pretty sure his fingers had frozen off an hour ago). “We gotta go! There’s more coming!”

            “It’s only a two-seater, John!”

            “Just stand, then!” Another shot, another death throe. “Faber’ll let _him_ have our asses if we die!”

            “That doesn’t make any sense!”

            “Just _stand_ , Potato Girl!”

            _Potato Girl_? Harou froze, eyes widening as his heartbeat sped up. _That’s impossible_.

            “Hey!” The first person, the girl, tugged at him. “Get on! Hurry! Unless you _want_ to get eaten!”

            Harou clambered onto the snowmobile, grabbing onto a handle as the driver slammed his foot on the break, wrenching his body to the left as he turned the wheel. They shot off, flying over the snow as they turned through the woods, turning around the trees with practiced ease. Soon, the horde was left behind.

            Harou stood on one side of the back of the vehicle, gripping onto the handlebar for dear life. The girl (not her, no way it was her, it had to be a coincidence – crazy, improbable, but that was _all_ it was, a one-in-a-million chance, that’s all) was standing with her back to him, a rifle in one hand, holding onto the handlebar with the other.

            “John,” she said. The driver paid no attention. “ _John_.” She repeated. “John, they’re gone!”

            The driver – John – slammed his foot on the break, and Harou lurched forwards, almost falling off the snowmobile. “Finally,” the girl grumbled, nudging him with her rifle. “Jeez, would it kill you to loosen up a little?”

            “Sure thing, Alex!” The driver snapped, swinging his leg over the side, standing up. “I’ll let you get eaten, next time! Sure you’d love that, it’s all just food to you, isn’t it?” Harou’s heart nearly stopped. That voice, that tone, those words, were all horrifyingly familiar.

            “What? Why’re you being such an ass? Did Charles turn you down last night?”

            “Shut up, Potato Girl!”

            “Hey! That’s a lifetime ago!”

            Harou’s throat tightened, and he let out a strangled, choked gasp. The small noise seemed to alert the other two to his presence.

            “Oh, sorry,” the girl, Alex, said sheepishly. “Forgot about you!” She laughed airily, tugging off her helmet. “Where’re you from? The city?” A wall of emotions crashed through Harou as Alex ran a hand through her short brown hair, flopping over the right side of her face in a half-shave. “I’m Alexandra –” she stopped, golden eyes widening as they fell on his face.

            “What?” John asked, obviously annoyed, as Alexandra nudged him repeatedly, mouth moving wordlessly, still staring at Harou. He tugged off his own helmet, ruffling his ash-colored hair, scowling. “See a lizard or somethi –” his voice died in his throat as he turned to glance at Harou. His jaw dropped, lengthening his already long, almost horse-like face, as he stared at the other man.

            “ _Jaeger_?!”

 

John – _Jean_ , it was _Jean_ – stared down at Harou – _Eren_ – a look of utter disbelief on his face. “What –” he put his hands to his head. “You –” Realization settled over his face, and pure, undiluted fury descended over him.

            _Oh, shit_. Eren’s breath caught, remembering. “Jean, I –”

            He was almost surprised when a fist caught him in the face, sending him falling to the ground.

            “John!” Alexandra – _Sasha_ – yelled. “John, what the hell?”

            “Move!” He shoved past her and raised his fist again.

            “ _John!_ ” She rammed her shoulder into his chest, raising her rifle across him. “John, calm the hell down!”

            “Alex, _move_ –” Sasha grabbed him around the waist, pulling him back. “Alex, let go!”

            “What’s wrong with you?!” she struggled against him. “What’re you doing? That’s _Eren_ , damnit!”  
            “I know it’s Eren, Alex!” Jean wrenched his arms free. “Lemme at the bastard already!”  
            “Look, whatever dick-measuring contest you have left over from back –”

            “Get _off_!” Jean wrenched free, charging forwards.

            “John!”

            Eren’s reflexes kicked in at the last second, and he rolled out of the way, coating himself in more snow as Jean’s fist landed right where his face had been a second ago. He stumbled to his feet, now shaking even harder, cheek throbbing (oh, how he missed his healing powers). “Jean, I swear I can explain –”

            “Go ahead, Jaeger!” Eren stumbled as Jean swung his fist again, barely dodging it. “I’m sure we’d both like to why the hell you went rogue, you piece of –”

            “Stop!” Sasha grabbed him. “John, stop!” Jean finally slowed in his struggling, but continued glaring at Eren.

            “You know what he did, Alex!”

            “Yes, I do!” Sasha held her rifle out, blocking Jean’s path. “And I know you’re pissed –” Jean laughed emotionlessly. “But stop trying to kill him!” She raised the rifle a bit more. “John – _Jean_ , stop.”

            Jean finally stilled, arms dropping to his sides as he panted, still glaring at the shorter man. Abruptly, he turned and swung his leg back over the snowmobile. “Get on,” he growled.

            Eren stared at him. “What –”

            “I said get _on_ , you Suicidal Bastard,” Jean snarled as Sasha grabbed a handle and tugged, the engine coming to life with a roar. “It’s not like you’ve got anyone waiting for you, right?”  
            Eren hesitated. It was true – the last member of his ‘group’ had died three days ago, one of the undead chomping straight through his skull as if it’d been nothing (something familiar about that. . .). Still, he had more than a few hesitations about getting on the back of a snowmobile with two people, one of whom hated him, and the other whom he’d indirectly killed in the past.

            “Fine,” Jean snapped, tugging on his helmet. “Stay here and freeze. Or get torn apart. Come on, Alex.”

            Sasha gave Eren a pleading look. “Come on, Eren,” she said.

            Eren glanced at Jean, who was still staring moodily ahead. With a resigned sigh, he stepped onto the snowmobile, gripping the handlebars as Jean pressed down on the gas. “Thanks,” he said.

            “And it’s Harou, now.”


	2. Eren

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The glass bowl shattered on the ground. Popcorn scattered everywhere, mixing with shards of glass. None of this registered as Harou stared ahead, eyes wide, hands hanging limply at his sides.
> 
> “Mom?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the chapter is headed with a roman numeral, it's going to be a part of the main story. If it's headed with a name, there'll be one of two possibilities: if it's their original name, then it'll be about them either getting their memories back or living with them; if it has their current/reincarnated name, it'll be about their lives on the day of the apocalypse.

Harou leaned back in his seat, tugging on a pair of headphones as the plane levelled out, yawning into his hand. He closed his eyes, teasing a hand through his long, brown hair as the dulcet tones of the Offspring drifted into his ears, readying himself for a nice, long nap –

A loud, disapproving sniff broke through his peaceful revere and he lifted his headphones, supressing a twitch in his left eye. The man in the seat next to him – a middle-aged, wealthy-looking businessman type – was staring at Harou, looking trapped between mild repulse and patronization, nose wrinkled.

            “Can I help you?” the younger man asked, an annoyed edge in his voice.

            The man sniffed again, deliberately turning his nose away, raising an in-flight magazine over the lower half of his face. “Oh, nothing,” he spoke with a British accent. “I just didn’t think German youth would be so uncouth.”

            Harou scowled, knowing full well what the man meant. It wasn’t like he could help it – walking around smelling like a drunkard was just a side effect of working in a brewery. His ratty outfits, comprised of torn jeans, rock band T-shirts, and various dark leather and denim jackets, didn’t exactly help convince people he wasn’t part of a gang. The long-ass hair and tattoos scattered over his (reasonably muscular, if he did say so himself) arms probably weren’t selling points, either. “Excuse me, _sir_ ,” he scowled, slamming his headphones back over his ears. The man sniffed again, loud enough for Harou to hear it through his noise-cancelling headphones (and definitely loud enough for the rest of the plane to have many, many questions).

            Harou groaned inwardly. This was going to be a long flight.

 

“Harou!” Alyssa smothered her son with a suffocating hug as Aaron chuckled, quickly taking it before the youth could drop it.

            “Hi, Mom.” Harou flushed as Alyssa pressed a quick kiss into his hair. “Mom!”

            “Harou,” Aaron chided as Harou disentangled himself. “Be nice, we haven’t seen you since you left in August.” Harou made a noise of protest as Alyssa grabbed a strand of his hair.

            She clucked her tongue. “What in the world do you think you’re doing, young man?” she tugged on it lightly, and Harou winced. “Growing your hair out like some hoodlum.”

            “ _Mom_ ,” Harou quickly backed away before Alyssa could do anything else. “It’s just my hair, jeez. No need to get so uptight.”

            An unreadable emotion flashed through Alyssa’s eyes, and she smiled. “Listen to you,” she said. “You sound just like back then. . .”

            Harou shot her a questioning look, and she shook her head, waving a hand dismissively. “Oh, never mind,” she said. “Shall we go, then?”

 

Scout yapped excitedly, jumping as high as his tiny body would allow him, licking frantically at Harou’s hands.

            “Hello, Scout!” Harou beamed, dropping to his knees. The excitable Chihuaha yipped frantically, diving into his arms. “Who’s a good boy? Yes, you are!” The small dog licked at Harou’s face, and the boy laughed as he whipped his tongue over his nose, eyelids, and mouth. “Okay, that’s kind of gross.”

            “Scout!” Aaron whistled as he sat down at the dining table. The small dog leapt off Harou’s lap, racing for the elder Hunter, feet skidding in his excitement.

            “Traitor!” Harou called, indignant, as the tiny ball of energy hopped into Aaron’s lap with ease.

            “Boys,” Alyssa chided as Harou picked himself up, sitting down at the table and wiping at the slobber on his face with a tissue. She set down a casserole dish, stripping off her over mitts and sitting down with them.

            “Smells great, Mom,” Harou complimented as Aaron began dishing out the steaming food.

            “Thank you, Harou,” Alyssa leaned over, sniffing Harou’s hair. She frowned. “Have you showered?”

            “No,” Harou glanced at his hair. “Is it bad?”

            “Airplane smell,” she replied, taking a bite out of the casserole, washing it down with a sip of beer. “Mm,” she smacked her lips. “Did you make this?”

            “I sorted the hops,” Harou offered, taking a large mouthful of cubed beef.

            Aaron frowned slightly, removing his glasses and wiping at the mist that had formed from the hot food. “Job not going well?”

            “Oh, no, it’s great!” Harou swallowed. “Yeah, I’m really glad I ditched uni. Apprenticing is so much more fun!”

            Aaron hid a tut behind his fork as he chewed. Alyssa shot him a reprimanding look before leaning over, pinching Harou’s cheek lightly.

            “Don’t listen to your father, dear,” she smiled. “As long as you’re happy.”

            “Hey, I resent that!” Aaron protested. “I’m just saying, I’d feel a lot more comfortable knowing he had something he could fall back on –”

            “This _is_ my something to fall back on,” Harou put his fork down. “People are always going to want beer, dad.”

            Aaron frowned, pursing his lips, but Alyssa silenced him, tapping on the side of her plate with her fork. “Let’s save this discussion for later,” she said. “After all, Harou hasn’t been home for months! I’m sure we have other things to talk about.”

            Aaron looking like he wanted to say more, but simply sighed. “Of course,” he smiled. “How was your stay, son?”

            “Great!” Ignoring the knife, Harou scooped out some more casserole with his fork. Alyssa frowned, staring at the uneven dish. “Aunt Feba’s awesome! And it’s really nice not having to pay rent.”

            “Wait, you don’t split the rent?” Aaron’s brow furrowed. Harou had a sudden, sinking feeling that his wallet would be hurting quite a bit once he got back to Germany.

            “Oh, never mind that,” Alyssa leaned in, eyes sparkling mischievously. “What are the girls like on the other side of the Atlantic?”

            Harou dropped his fork, and Aaron choked on a sip of beer. “Mom!”

            “Is that why your hair’s so long, now? Did you get a girlfriend?”

            “No!”

            “Boyfriend, then.”

            “ _Mom!_ ”

 

“Nonononononononono!” Harou hurled a handful of popcorn at the screen. “Don’t help the sucker, just go!”

            “Take the money, get off the ship!” Alyssa shouted. “You don’t even know his name!”

            “Every man for himself!” Aaron roared.

            “Great! The main character’s an idiot.” Harou tossed his hands in the air. “And now he’s stuck underground forever.”

            “Just watch,” Alyssa grabbed at the popcorn bowl in Harou’s lap. “There’s going to be some sort of deux ex machina in about twenty minutes that’s going to magically turn him into a genius and let him escape.”

            Aaron grunted in agreement. “Oh, look. Falling beams.”

            “I’m going to get more popcorn,” Harou grumbled, standing up. “The plot is killing me. Slowly and painfully.”

            He rubbed at his eyes, sore from staring at the TV screen in the dark room for so long, as he pushed open the kitchen door. He glanced at his watch as he put a bag of popcorn in the microwave. _Two already?_ He leaned against the wall, watching as the popcorn bag turned slowly, listening to the dramatic music and overexaggerated screaming in the next room.

            He winced, pressing a hand to his ear as the screaming went up another notch. There was the sound of crashing glass, and loud roars echoed through the house.

            “What the hell?” Harou leaned against the door, pushing it open and walking back into the living room as he poured the popcorn into the bowl. “What kind of dumb plot twist did they throw in now –”

            The glass bowl shattered on the ground. Popcorn scattered everywhere, mixing with shards of glass. None of this registered as Harou stared ahead, eyes wide, hands hanging limply at his sides.

            “Mom?”

            A strangled scream of pain was the only thing he got in response. “Harou –” she cut off with a gurgle as fingers tore at her stomach, the crisp white shirt turning red. “Run –” Teeth closed over her throat, and blood splattered the floor.

            The body of Alyssa Hunter fell to the floor, her killer – a wild-eyed, growling woman, blank scalp bleeding where clumps of hair had been torn out, a gaping, bloody wound on her leg, broken at an odd angle – looked up, Alyssa’s throat hanging from her mouth.

            Harou crumpled to the ground, unfeeling, even as the shattered glass sliced into his knees.

            “Mom. . .”

            _You must survive!_

            His breath hitched as the woman growled, rising from Alyssa’s corpse.

            _We’ll see the ocean!_

            The woman snarled broken leg cracking sickeningly as she stumbled.

            _Are you human or Titan?!_

            She made a low, rumbling noise, falling forwards, grabbing at the floor.

            _You wrapped this scarf around me_. . .

            She began tugging at the panelled floor, which splintered under her grip as she tugged herself forwards.

            _From the moment we’re born, we’re free!_

            His breath came quicker, eyes wide and unseeing. The woman roared again, quickening her pace, the shiny flooring Aaron had had put in last summer cracking as she dug her fingers into the wood, nails breaking, thick, congealed blood oozing from her hands as the wood tore at her flesh.

            _We don’t have time! Choose, now –!_

_She needs to be taught a lesson –_

_I’ll show you what’s in the basement –_

_Are you saying the Captain doesn’t trust us?!_

_– thirteen years –_

_– will we be free –?_

_Suicidal Bastard –!_

_Do you remember –?_

_I’ll kill that Titan and save all of you –!_

_– you will grow to hate me!_

_Meat._

_Eren, grab on!_

_Eren, wear it right._

_Eren Jaeger –_

_Eren’s scream –_

_Attack Titan –_

_Founder –_

_The Curse of Ymir –_

_His name is_ Eren Jaeger _._

            Harou gasped, falling to his knees, hands flying up to grip his head.

            _Eren Jaeger, sir!_

            The woman dove forwards with a high-pitched, gravelly screeching noise.

            _Crack_.

            Thick, clumpy blood splattered the walls and ground as Harou grabbed a chair, swinging it through the air. There was a crack as the heavy wood crunched through the woman’s skull, slimy gray brains, crushed and bloody, fell to the ground with wet splats.

            There was another growl from the corner of the room. Aaron sat up jerkily, eyes wide, pupils dilated. He growled, raising his hand, wrist snapped clean in half, red tracing down his arm, splintered bone protruding through torn skin. When he opened his mouth, all that came through was a low gurgle. And, in that moment, what Harou saw wasn’t his father, who’d lifted Harou up to rescue the starving Chihuahua pup from the dumpster, who’d played video games with him, who’d taught him how to drive, but a bearded doctor, eyes wild and crazed, holding his arm in a bruising grip, syringe in hand, and a blonde man, eyes cold, covered in blood, wounds steaming.

            He pounced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, they’re watching Kaiji. Fight me.
> 
> EDIT 4/22/2019: I just realized I forgot to add the notes (non-spoiler) to the chapters
> 
> Harou Hunter, Age 19
> 
> Harou: The army's wolf (Norman)/Waves (Japanese)  
> Hunter: English translation of Jäger
> 
> Brewery apprentice (pre-apocalypse), visiting parents when the apocalypse struck.


	3. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, If it makes you feel any better, I don’t care,” she said. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I was dead by then, but. . . well, I just think it’s kind of pointless to hold on to old grudges. We’re all different, now, anyways.” She fixed Harou with her golden gaze. “You are different, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this is short.

John vaulted off the snowmobile before it even stopped, stomping through the snow, tugging his helmet off. Alex leapt off just as nimbly, leaving Harou to stumble after them, still shivering. The ride hadn’t exactly helped his condition, either (John had driven through a mess of snowy branches, leaving the former Shifter scratched and covered in quickly freezing snow.

            “Who else have you found?” he asked Alex as she ducked under a low-hanging branch.

            “Well. . .” Alex frowned, shifting her rifle. “A bunch, actually. The Commander –” Harou’s stomach jolted as he thought back to the last time he’d seen the man. “Hange –” Harou’s insides squirmed uncomfortably. “Ymir and Historia –” Harou nodded. “Bunch more. . . oh, yeah, the Captain, too.” Harou gulped.

            “Hey, you okay?” He looked up, seeing Sasha’s brow furrowed.

            He nodded. “Yeah, it’s just,” he gestured awkwardly at himself, then forwards. “Well. . .”

            “Oh, yeah,” Alex said, realization dawning on her as she remembered. “Rogue Eren. Right. Well,” she reached towards a bunch of pine needles. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t care,” she said. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I was dead by then, but. . . well, I just think it’s kind of pointless to hold on to old grudges. We’re all different, now, anyways.” She fixed Harou with her golden gaze. “You _are_ different, right?”

            Harou nodded as she pushed past the curtain of pine needles, which, Harou now noticed, was multiple living branches woven together, with camouflage nets draped over it.

            “So, what is this, a camp or –” Harou’s jaw dropped open. They had stepped into a clearing full of tents, the same camouflage curtains that they’d just stepped through hanging around the entire area. Bundled-up people stood around, leaning against trees, going in and out of tents, talking and laughing with friends. A little girl sat on a high branch, kicking her legs as a tall boy on the ground below her shouted at her in vain, trying to convince her to get down.

            Alex cleared her throat, then shoved two fingers in her mouth and whistled loudly. The chatter died down as each and every eye in the clearing turned towards them.

            “The hell was that, Strauss?” someone demanded.

            “Ladies and gentlemen, girl and Hans!” Alex proclaimed. “Guess who we found?” Nobody responded. “Our one and only triple-Shifter, Eren Jaeger! Well, Harou Hunter,” she amended.

            Harou swore he could hear crickets chirping.

            “Eren?” A girl asked from where she stood next to a boy. She had pale skin and large, dark eyes, a scarf tossed around her neck. Harou’s eyes widened. “Eren!” she broke into a grin, running forwards and throwing her arms around his neck. Harou tentatively brought a hand up, resting it between her shoulder blades.

            “Your hair’s long.” He could think of nothing else to say as he felt the thick, braided locks.

            Mikasa released him, stepping back. Harou took a look at her. She was practically identical to the last time he’d seen her before leaving for Marley. Her hair was longer, braided in a plait that reached her mid-back, and she had a small tattoo on her cheekbone. She was perhaps a bit taller, a bit more relaxed, but, all in all, she was still the same –

            She slapped him in the face.

            “Jesus!” Harou stumbled, hand flying up to the stinging red area. “Mikasa!”

            “That’s for the chat,” she said. Another slap on the other cheek. “And that’s for everything else.” She sighed, reaching a hand towards him, smiling again. “Hello, Harou. I’m Rin. Rin Stark.”

            Harou gulped, reaching forwards. “Pleasure to meet you again,” he smiled weakly. “And, Rin?” She looked at him. “I’m sorry.”

            She smiled.

 

Harou sat in the Rec Room – really just an extra-large tent with a folding table and coolers inside – a cup of tea in his hand. He took a sip of it, sighing internally at the heat that spread through him.

            “When did you remember?” Armin – Cato – sat across from Harou, his own cup empty. He twisted a lock of his hair, longer, and tied back into a ponytail, as he watched the other boy.

            Harou’s stomach still rolled at the memory of the other night. “When my mom was eaten.” He still found it surprising – and more than a little worrying – that he was now able to speak about it so easily.

            Something flashed in Cato’s eyes. “Sorry,” he said.

            “Hm,” Harou took a sip. “What about you?”

            He chuckled darkly. “Born with them,” he said.

            Harou’s eyes widened. “Oh, my god,” he muttered. “Jeez, Ar – Cato. . .”

            “I got beat up in school for talking about it,” Cato smiled ruefully. “Learned to stop talking.” He nodded at Rin, who sat next to Harou. “Thank god for Rin. We met in fifth grade.”  
            Rin chuckled, tracing the rim of her teacup. “It’s been strange, hasn’t it?” she put her head in her hand. “Adjusting, I mean. I remembered when I was eight, and that was a shock all on its own.”

            Cato nodded. “Some days, I still feel like we’re in the military. It’s always so different remembering we’re not soldiers anymore. . .”

            “Personally,” John chimed in as he walked into the tent, shaking the snow from his coat. “I think civilian life’s preferable to the military.” He nodded stiffly at Harou, sliding in to sit next to Cato.

            Cato was silent, staring into his empty cup. “It’s strange, though,” he said. “Some days, I wake up, and I can’t remember who I am: Armin or Cato. And then I go to school, sit down with normal kids, who’ve never killed anyone or fought a war, and talk about normal kid things – well,” he sighed, tugging at his bangs. “It’s just so weird.”

            John muttered in agreement. “Well, I know it sounds weird, but,” he grinned weakly. “I’m kinda glad about this zombie apocalypse thing, you know? Something familiar in a world that’s so different from our old one.”

            Harou didn’t say anything, simply letting his hands rest on the table. “I don’t know,” he said. “I did so many irredeemable things last time. . . I feel like I cheated life, being able to live without those memories or that torment until the apocalypse. It’s been. . . well, nice.”

            John sighed. “Yeah. My parents took me to a shrink when I was a kid, after I got my memories back. She told them I had all the symptoms of severe depression and PTSD, but they had no idea where it came from. And I couldn’t very well tell them I was the reincarnation of a soldier from another world, could I?”

            Rin hummed in agreement, raising her cup to her lips. Cato stretched his arms out, lying down over the table.

            “Maybe it makes me a terrible person,” Rin said. “But I kind of. . . miss it? Killing Titans and all.”

            “Now, that,” John said. “Is an Eren sentence.”

            “I resent that,” Harou protested.

            “Well, don’t go running after the zombies,” John said. “They’re tougher than Titans.”

            “Yeah, I know.” Harou shuddered slightly, still feeling the cold, clammy fingers on his ankle.

            A silence fell. Rin fidgeted with the end of her scarf – black, this time, with a tight, factory-made weave.

            “So, John,” Harou finally said. “Are you still trying to get a piece of Rin’s ass?”

            “Fuck you, Hunter.”


	4. Armin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two massive faces loomed over him. “He’s so cute!” one said, grinning, showing all her teeth.
> 
> A large hand reached for him. “Hey, there, Cato!” Another grin.
> 
> He screamed, loud, long, and high-pitched, flailing his limbs as he began sobbing in terror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cato lives in Florence, and the exchange trip took him to Québec, so pretend that they're speaking Italian and French.
> 
> Also, Fabian and Kayla are the names I came up with for his parents.
> 
> I'm not sure if fifth-graders normally go on exchange trips, but I don't really care ತಎತ iT'S foR tHe pLot!

He opened his eyes slowly, blinking in the bright light shining down from above. Dimly, he wondered if he was dead. Then he wondered what a dead was.

            He heard a gasp. “Aw, look, he’s opened his eyes already!” Large arms shuffled their grip on him, rocking him back and forth.

            _Large arms_. . .

            Two massive faces loomed over him. “He’s so cute!” one said, grinning, showing all her teeth.

            _Teeth_.

            A large hand reached for him. “Hey, there, Cato!” Another grin.

            _Massive, contorted faces, covered in blood, leering down at him._

            _We’ll see the ocean!_

_Shut up, you devil!_

_I will advocate for him –!_

_I pulled that trigger so easily –_

_I’m joining the Survey Corps –!_

_Don’t let us regret this –_

_That’s a ridiculous name! Did your parents give it to you?_

_Arlert –!_

_Armin said –_

_What do you think, Armin?_

_Armin –_

_Armin!_

_Armin Arlert, sir!_

            He screamed, loud, long, and high-pitched, flailing his limbs as he began sobbing in terror.

            “Woah!”

            “Quite the set of lungs on him, huh?”

            “ _Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!_ ”

 

“Titans!” Cato said again, showing Luca the sketch he’d mapped out on the back of his worksheet. “They’re huge, ranging from five to fifteen meters, and then there’s the Colossal Titan, at sixty, and the Rod Reiss Titan, which was one hundred and twenty –”

            Luca shot him a pitying look. “Okay, then.”

            “I’m not lying!” Cato said again. “I was in the Survey Corps, they’re a branch of the military that goes outside the Walls and fights the Titans. We also went to Marley –”

            A large, meaty hand snatched the sheet from the desk. “Well, well,” Andrea leered down at the two smaller boys as they whirled around in their seats. “What’s this? Crazy Cato and Loony Luca are talking about their fake world again?”

            “It’s not _my_ fake world,” Luca said while Cato protested, “It’s not fake!”

            Andrea opened up the crumpled sheet of paper, sneering at the drawing at the back. “It’s so ugly!” he and his friends guffawed. “What did you call it?” He squinted. “ _Colossal Titan?_ Is that supposed to be you?”

            “He’ll be colossal when the sky falls down!” Christian shoved Cato’s seat hard, and he tumbled out of it.

            “Pipsqueak!” Daniel dropped down next to him, sneering.

            “Boys?” Quick as a flash, the crumbled-up paper vanished into Andrea’s pocket and the leers transformed into warm smiles as the teacher approached. “What’s going on?”

            “Cato fell out of his chair,” Christian said. “Daniel was helping him.”

            “Well, that’s very nice of you, Daniel,” the teacher smiled. “Cato, what do we say?”

            “Thank you,” Cato mumbled as Daniel took his hand, helping him up. Daniel beamed, but his eyes were cold.

            “Back to your seats, now,” the teacher nodded at the boys. “Cato, where’s your worksheet?”

            Cato looked down at his feet. “I, uh, lost it.”

            The teacher sighed. “Again, Cato? That’s the third time this week.” Cato didn’t reply. “I’m going to have to call your parents.”

            “I don’t know why you don’t just tell her,” Luca said as soon as the teacher walked away. “If you told them what was happening, I’m sure she’d help.”

            “No,” Cato shook his head. “They’re always putting on a show. All the teachers think they’re perfect little angels.”

            Luca sighed. “Just tell her they keep making fun of you.”

            “And have her tell me to stop telling lies? No thanks.”

            “Just say you’re writing a story or something.”

            Cato looked down at his empty desk.

            _Levi stared down at him as he sat on top of the Wall, dumbfounded, reeling in shock. “Don’t let us regret this.” Armin looked up at him, eyes widening. “That’s your mission from now on. Not to have any regrets. For you or anybody else.”_

            “I can’t,” Cato said. Luca raised an eyebrow. “So many of my comrades. . . they died for our cause, and so many of them died just for me. And me. . .”

            _Bertolt. . . is this what you saw?_

            “I can’t just forget about that. It would be an insult to their memories to lie.”

            Luca stared at him. “A simple no would have been fine.”

 

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” the therapist told Kayla, running a hand through his hair anxiously. “He’s got the exact same type of PTSD as a war veteran, and the worst case of depression I’ve seen in a kid for a long time.”

            “But that doesn’t make any sense,” Fabian said. “He was raised just like a normal child, and nothing’s ever happened in his life that could cause anything like that.”

            “There’s something else,” the therapist said. “Throughout our entire session, he kept talking about ‘Titans’. He seems to be under the impression that man-eating giants are out to get us all.”

            “Yes,” Kayla sighed. “He talks about those a lot, at home and at school. His art teacher called us in for a meeting once to discuss a very graphic drawing he’d made.”

            “He thinks he’s the reincarnation of a soldier who used to fight the Titans,” Fabian added, looking hassled.

            “From what he’s told me, it seems that he’s been the victim of bullying at school because of his Titan talk,” the therapist said.

            Kayla furrowed her brow. “He’s never mentioned anything.”

            “I don’t think he meant to,” the therapist said. “It just kind of slipped out.”

            Fabian frowned and Kayla bit her lip. “May I suggest something?” the therapist said. “From what I’ve seen, it looks like what Cato needs is a change of pace.” He slid a pamphlet across the table. “What do you think? I’m not telling you that you have to do it, or that it’s the only solution, but I do think it would help get his mind off of things, as well as serving as an excellent experience and learning opportunity.”

 

“An exchange trip?”

            Cato stared at the sheet in front of him.

            “Dr. Alfonsi thinks it would be good for you,” Kayla said, watching his reaction carefully. “It’s in Québec, so all the classes will be in French, which you should be able to handle. It’d also be a chance to experience a new culture –”

            “I want to do it.”

            Fabian raised his eyebrows, and Kayla’s eyes widened.

            “Well, that was easy.”

 

“Class?” The teacher clapped his hands. “Everybody, listen up. We have a new student joining us this term.” He placed a hand on Cato’s shoulder. “This is Cato Herman. He’s an exchange student from Italy.”

            A few murmurs rippled through the classroom and Cato flushed, heart pounding. He shuffled, fiddling with the blazer of his new, unfamiliar uniform. “Alright, Cato, I’m going to be assigning a student to help you out and show you around the school, okay?”

            He nodded. The teacher cast his gaze over the room. “Let’s see. . . oh, we have an empty desk there in the back with Rin.” The tension in the room stiffened as students shot each other alarmed looks, though the teacher seemed oblivious.

            “He’s gonna get eaten alive,” one kid muttered to another. Cato gulped.

            “She’s right there,” the teacher said, pointing to a girl in the back. All the desks in the row were empty, save for hers, and the students in front of her seemed to have shuffled as far away from her as possible. Cato began walking towards her, clutching his backpack tighter.

            “I heard she put a kid in the hospital during her last karate competition,” a girl whispered to her friend.

            “I heard she put her _sensei_ in the hospital!”

            “Wasn’t her cousin a gang leader?” a boy asked his neighbour.

            “I thought he was a biker!”

            Cato was shaking from head to toe by the time he had reached her. She had long black hair, in a braid reaching her mid-back, and she was leaning on the desk, playing absent-mindedly with the ends of a scarf that Cato was pretty sure wasn't part of the uniform. “Um, hey,” he said, voice tremoring slightly. Rin cast her gaze to him, and her eyes widened.

            She sat up straight, braid whipping through the air. Cato’s jaw dropped.

            “ _Merde alors_ ,” Mikasa breathed.

            “Miss Stark! Language!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Merde alors' means 'holy shit' in French, btw
> 
> EDIT 4/22/2019: I just realized I forgot to add the notes (non-spoiler) to the chapters
> 
> Cato Herman, Age 19
> 
> Cato: Intelligent, all-knowing (Latin)  
> Herman: Origin of the name Armin, meaning soldier (German)
> 
> Law student (pre-apocalypse), born with memories.


	5. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eren Jaeger.
> 
> The son of a bitch he never thought he would have to see again.
> 
> Well, Harou Hunter, now.
> 
> What a dumb name.

John sat down on the sleeping pad with a sigh, running a hand through his hair.

            _Eren Jaeger_.

            The son of a bitch he never thought he would have to see again.

            Well, Harou Hunter, now.

            What a dumb name.

            _At least Rin doesn’t seem too pissed_. John looked forlornly down at his shirt, covered in fresh bloodstains. “Damnit,” he growled, tugging it off. He’d really liked that one, too.

            “Woah, there.” John yelped at the sudden blast of cold. “Oh, sorry.” Charles quickly turned around, zipping up the tent flap, bending over slightly in the small tent. “Hey,” he sat down next to John.

            “Hey,” John nodded, taking the fresh shirt Charles had offered, tugging it on.

            “I saw Eren,” Charles said gently. John snorted.

            “Harou, now,” he scoffed.

            Charles hummed, resting his head on John’s shoulder. “You didn’t gut him?” he asked, only half-teasing.

            John snorted again. “Please. Stark would have gutted _me_.”

            “True,” Charles laughed lightly. “Man, for such a tiny guy, he’s sure scary.”

            “Tell me about it,” John smiled. “When we were in his squad –” he cut off, falling silent.

            Charles sighed. “Hey –”

            “No,” John muttered. “It’s fine.” He gently removed Charles’ head and slid down lying with his head in the taller boy’s lap. Charles ran his hand through his ash locks, thoughtful.

            “You know what they say about experiences making a person,” Charles said. “There’s no way he’s had the same experiences.”

            John laughed. “True – you should have seen him trying to fight of those zombies. With a _rock_. Hopeless.”

            Charles chuckled, sliding John’s head off his lap to lie side-by-side with him “Did you punch him?”

            “‘Course I did. Do you wanna?”

            “Hmm. I think I’m good.”

            “Okay.”

 

“Oww. . .”

            Alex winced, rubbing her abdomen as she sat cross-legged on the floor.

            “Hungry?” Connor asked, holding out a bag of chips.

            “Nah,” she grimaced, hand resting over the throbbing pain. “Just that old spot again.”

            Connor frowned, sitting up. “Do you need me to get Hans?”

            Alex shook her head, lying down. Connor shifted, resting himself next to her, lying on his side to face her. “It’s fine. Besides, didn’t they say it wasn’t physical? Psycho-soba-chicken, or something.”

            “Psychosomatic?”

            “That’s the one!” Alex grinned, the winced again. “When’d you get so smart?”

            Connor ran a hand over the fuzz of her half-shave. “Guess I’m just naturally gifted.” He grinned, and she laughed.

            Alex turned on her side, facing Connor. “Are you okay?” she asked.

            Connor furrowed his brow. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

            She shrugged. “Dunno. I’m not really sure how I feel. I mean, I heard about everything that happened, but I wasn’t actually _there_.”

            Connor twirled a lock of her hair around his finger. “Do you blame him?” he asked. “Eren, I mean.”

            Alex stared at him. “I don’t know,” she said. “That girl, Garbage, she’s the one who shot me. But she only did that because Eren went sicko mode on Liberio. And he only did that because Marley attacked the Walls. And they only did that ‘cause of the two-thousand-year war.”

            “So you blame the war?”

            “Nah, too deep. Guess I don’t really blame anyone?” Alex chuckled. “And if I’m ever feeling down, I’m happy knowing Garbage was probably eaten alive during this apocalypse. I mean, karma, right?”

            Connor laughed, then wrinkled his nose. “I guess. I still kinda want to punch Harou, though.”

            “I think they’re taking turns,” Alex said.

            “Might join in later.”

            “I’ll come with you. Probably won’t do any actual punching, though.”

            “Sure.”

 

Persephone sat on the camp bed, arms crossed, staring down at her interlocked fingers.

            Ymir groaned, rolling over. “Hey,” she muttered. “You okay?” She reached out a hand, placing it on the younger girl’s thigh.

            Persephone nodded, but didn’t say anything. “Eren’s back,” she finally said.

            Ymir snorted. “Yeah, I can tell – they aren’t exactly very subtle with their yelling.”

            Persephone let out a small chuckle, bringing a leg closer to her chest. “He sounds different,” she said. “I mean, there’s not any anger there anymore. It’s like he’s milder.”

            Ymir hummed, tugging lightly on Persephone’s sleeve. The younger girl collapsed on her side, and Ymir pulled her closer, wrapping an arm around her. “Well, you know what they say about our experiences making us who we are,” she mused. “Maybe he’s realized that the whole ‘anger and hatred’ thing isn’t really all that effective.”

            Persephone laughed lightly. “Maybe.”

            Ymir chuckled, putting her nose in Persephone’s hair. “I’m thinking of going to punch him later. Just for the heck of it. You?”

            “Yeah, sounds good.”

 

Hans ran their hand through their hair as they dried it off, looking at their reflection in the mirror. They struck a quick pose, grinning and sticking their tongue out. Yup – purple was _definitely_ their color. Most colors were, honestly (Elvy could bitch and moan all he wanted – there was no denying that Hans was the most fabulous in camp).

            They plopped down on the ground, looking out the window of their crude treehouse. There was a small whining noise, and they looked up as the Golden Retriever in the corner looked up, raising his head from his paws.

            “Oh, sorry,” Hans smiled as the puppy toddled over, stumbling on paws too big for his body. “Did I wake you?” The puppy plopped down next to them, staring at them with bright, intelligent blue eyes.

            Hans sighed. “Yes, I _know_. Don’t worry, I’m not going to try testing on him too.” The puppy tilted his head, giving them an almost skeptical look. “Trust me, I’m not ready to get punched again.” Their left arm still hurt sometimes when it rained. Little Miss Cansuperbia did _not_ hold back.

            The puppy yapped, looking seemingly unsatisfied. “No, I don’t hold a grudge against him.” Hans sighed, and the puppy twitched an ear. “Fine – I don’t know how to feel. There’s a lot of old wounds that need to stay hidden, you know? And him showing up is like ripping them off with a chainsaw.”

            The puppy yapped again, and Hans laughed. “Yes, I’ll give you back to Elvy soon – don’t worry. You won’t have to leave him again.”

 

Elvy sat on a branch, perhaps a bit higher up than most people would be comfortable with, legs dangling in the air. Whatever. He’d been higher before.

            He heard a rustling behind him and whirled around, hand reaching for the knife on his belt.

            Alastair raised his hands as he sat down gingerly next to Elvy. He put a hand on the back of his neck, and the younger man relaxed into his touch. “What’re you thinking?”

            Elvy looked down into the clearing as Cato and Rin stood outside the Rec Room, speaking quietly to each other. “Whether I wanna punch the brat or kick him.”

            Alastair chuckled. “I meant emotion-wise.”

            Elvy sighed, tugging on a lock of hair. “I dunno.”

            “Do you want me to leave me alone?”

            “Nah, I’m good.” Elvy slid off the branch, feet landing on the one below as he began making his way down.

            “It’s really not safe to be up this high,” Alastair commented, following him down.

            “What, can’t handle it, old man?” Elvy smirked. “Besides, we’ve been higher.”

            “When we were fighting man-eating giants.”

            “We’re still fighting man-eating monsters. They’re just a bit smaller. Which, in my opinion, is even more of a reason to get higher. Hans has the right idea.”

            “Fair.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A guest on FanFiction.net asked me on Chapter Three about Eren's comment ("So, John. Are you still trying to get a piece of Rin's ass?"). I, personally, believe that all the characters would behave differently in their reincarnated forms, since they had different life experiences (Persephone mentioned it in this chapter). I personally believe that Eren only got big-brother overprotective of Mikasa after watching Carla die and promising to protect her and think that, in this life, he would be more accepting of her as an individual than just a little sister he had to protect.


	6. Jean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He does it to every’un,” Dennis grumbled, voice still distorted. “He’s just a big meanie! Dumb meanie horseface!”
> 
> John fell out of his chair.
> 
> “John?” Ovia looked at him, concerned. “John, what’s wrong?”
> 
> _Jean Kirschtein, Trost District, sir!_
> 
> John turned to the side, hacking as he vomited up his dinner.
> 
> “John!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized I haven't updated this in a stupid amount of time I am so sorry.
> 
> Also, Ovia means egg, if you were wondering (we stan Omelette Jean)

“Mme. Eckstein, I trust you know why you’re here today?”

            “Yes,” Ovia glanced down at his son, who sat with his arms crossed, staring moodily at the ground. “I’m very disappointed to hear John’s been acting like this. Trust me when I say he’s been punished properly at home.”

            “Mme. Ecskstein, that’s not the point,” the teacher sighed. “The point is, this is the third time this term that John’s been called in for bullying other students. We think that he’s been victimizing them.”

            “My son was in the nurse’s office with a bloody nose and black eye!” Mme. Martin snapped, gesturing to Dennis, who’s left eye was still puffy. “Mme. Eckstein: I’m sorry, you’re a lovely person, but your son is out of control!”

            Ovia looked down at John, who was still glaring at the floor. “John? Can you tell Mama why you’ve been acting out lately?”

            John’s glare deepened and he kicked the seat legs. “He called me an eggplant,” he grumbled.

            The teacher sighed, rubbing her nose. “Yes, John, you’ve already told us, and that was wrong of Dennis. But that’s no reason to beat him to this extent.”

            John scowled.

            “He does it to every’un,” Dennis grumbled, voice still distorted. “He’s just a big meanie!”

            “Dennis, hush,” Mme. Martin told him. “Let the adults talk.”

            “Dumb meanie horseface!” Dennis continued, furious.

            John fell out of his chair.

            “John?” Ovia looked at him, concerned. “John, what’s wrong?”

            _That damned Horseface –!_

            “John!” John was panting, eyes wide, shaking. “John!”

            _You’ll never make the Military Police like this_.

            “What’s wrong?!”

            _You know what it’s like to be weak –_

“I’m going to get the nurse!”

            _They’re all regretting it_ –

            “John! Breathe!”

            _Dedicate your hearts –!_

            _Put the bread back –_

_Marco’s dead –_

_– Jaeger faction –_

_He killed them –_

_It’s my fault –_

_– hands dirty –_

_Potato?!_

_Jean-boy!_

_Jean!_

_Kirschtein!_

_Jean Kirschtein, Trost District, sir!_

            John turned to the side, hacking as he vomited up his dinner.

            “John!”

 

“PTSD, depression, and anxiety,” the therapist frowned at his sheet. “He fits all the criterion. It also looks like he’s got some trust issues, and a bit of an inferiority complex.”

            “I don’t understand!” Ovia was near tears. “He was a perfectly normal child until last night.”

            “What happened last night?” the therapist asked.

            “We had a conference with the teacher – he’s been picking on some other kids at school – and, halfway through, he fell out of his chair and started hyperventilating. And vomited. It’s like he’s turned into a completely new person overnight. I found him sitting in the tree in our yard this morning. He’s terrified of heights!”

            The therapist frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense. . .”

 

“John,” Ovia said, standing outside John’s room, watching as he sat at his desk, doing homework. “John, talk to me!”

            “I’m fine, Mom,” John muttered, scribbling on the sheet. “I told you, I ate a bad egg.”

            “You don’t get PTSD from a bad meal, John!”

            “Well maybe you cooked it so badly that I did!” John yelled, turning and throwing a notebook at her. It slammed into the wall, and Ovia stared at him, shocked. She bit her lip, then turned around, marching stiffly down the stairs.

            John grit his teeth, turning to stare down at the marked-up sheet, not a single question answered.

            _Marco Bott. Sasha Braus. Connie Springer. Mikasa Ackerman. Armin Arlert. Eren Jaeger. Historia Reiss. Levi Ackerman. Ymir. Reiner Braun. Erwin Smith. Annie Leonhart. Bertolt Hoover. Hange Zoë._

            _What would you say if you saw me now?_

            _Probably ‘fuck you’, honestly_.

 

John sighed, tugging his beanie tighter as he stood outside the Québec City Jean Lesage Airport (John felt distinctly as if fate were mocking him). He shivered slightly in the cold (only a few degrees lower than Lyon, but still quite a change, jumping from the low positives to the high negatives).

            “Does Canada even have taxis?” He sighed, tucking his scarf into his parka and grabbing his suitcase. “Public transport it is.”

            Five minutes later, he discovers that Québecois French is very different from France French, which he never thought would be a problem until he was suddenly faced with a busload of not-quite-as-polite-now-that-their-bus-is-being-held-up-by-a-clueless-European Canadians.

 

John sighed, rubbing his fingers over his eyelids as he sat in the park, watching a school group being led around like a huddle of ducklings by an overly-cheerful tour guide. His phone pinged, and he frowned, reading the message. _Rent due Wendsday_.

            He leaned back, putting the mobile away. _Should I get a job?_ Rent had ended up being a lot more than he’d originally bargained for, and he mentally kicked himself for not preparing better. At the time, all he’d cared about was getting out, and away. If that meant high-tailing it halfway across the globe to the coldest French-speaking country he could find, then so be it. He’d always wanted to try maple syrup, anyways (although he was still skeptical about ‘maple taffy’).

            He also wasn’t sure why he ended up in _culinary school_ of all places – maybe that match ended up striking him a lot deeper than he originally thought.

            “ _—Géant_.”

            John sat up straight, eyes widening.

            “No, Cato,” he heard a familiar voice say. “We’re not doing it.”

            “Rin, we’re the only two people that we know of from back then! If anybody else –”

            “Remembers? Do you really want that for them, Cato?”

            “I don’t want them to hurt, but they deserve to know –”

            “Yes, they do, but they don’t deserve to destroy themselves for something that could have happened thousands of years ago, for all we know –”

            The two people rounded the bend, still arguing. The man, a tall blond, hair pulled into a ponytail, was gesturing animatedly with his hands while the woman, dark hair pulled into a tight braid, a dark scarf wrapped around her neck, had her hands in her pockets, speaking in low, rapid-fire French.

            John’s heart sped up. “Mikasa? Armin?”

            The two stopped and, slowly, simultaneously, turned their heads to face John. John gasped.

            “Jean?” Mikasa’s eyes widened.

            Armin’s jaw dropped.

 

“Are you here for university?” Mikasa – Rin – took a sip of coffee, fingers wrapped around the mug.

            “Mm,” John took a sip of the tea. He jumped as a tray slammed onto the desk.

            “If my card malfunctions one more time, I’m giving up,” Cato declared, sliding back into his seat, grabbing a small sandwich. “I thought Le – Elvy was going to rip my head off.”

            Rin snorted. “He wouldn’t.”

            “He might,” John said. “I mean, the mission to reclaim Wall Maria and all. . .” he trailed off.

            Cato shook his head, putting the sandwich down. “I still can’t believe it,” Armin said. “There’s more of us. And you remember!”

            John couldn’t help looking over at the counter, where Elvy stood, berating an ash-haired man, tongue stuck between his teeth, about the way the cheesecake had been baked while two other people, a short, red-haired girl and a tall blond man held his head back, blood dripping down his chin. “I still can’t believe he doesn’t remember,” John muttered. “And you said he’s dating _Zeke Jaeger?_ ”  
            The sandwich in Cato’s hands made a pathetic squishing noise as it was crushed to a saucy mess, and the handle of Rin’s mug cracked.

            “Never mind,” John muttered.

 

“Do you want a job?”

            John glanced at Rin in surprise. “What?”

            Rin shot him an apologetic glance. “Your phone was buzzing off the wall when you went to the bathroom. You need to pay rent, right?”

            John scowled, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I guess,” he grumbled. He wasn’t keen to let the friends he hadn’t seen for who knows how many years know about his financial troubles. _Pathetic excuse for an ex-officer_.

            “John, I’ve been asking you the same question for ten minutes. _Do you want a fucking job?_ ”

            John sighed. “Yeah. Know any places that’re hiring?”

            Rin rolled her eyes. “That’s why I _asked_ , idiot. I run an after school class in street-fighting –”

            “You _what?_ ”

            Rin rolled her eyes again. “Normal fighting styles like karate and jujistsu don’t work very well against muggers unless you’re an expert. I’ve been teaching the kids some of the tactics we learned in cadets – safer for them, and all. Cato’s been trying to help me, but I could really use some extra hands. And, well,” she gestured at John.

            John stared at her. “I – well – I’m just culinary school student,” he said lamely.

            Rin sighed “ _Jean_ , come on – you’re way more than that. You’re Jean Kirschtein, sixth in the 104th Southern Training Corps, Survey Corps officer, cook –“

            “Sasha’s meat was way better –”

            “And my friend,” Rin finished. “Come on, Jean. It’d help pay rent, at the very least.”

            John groaned. “ _Fine_.”

            Rin smiled. “Thank you.” She stood on her tiptoes and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before turning and running down the street, disappearing into the night.

            John stood there for another five minutes, gaping down at where she’d vanished, hand raised halfway to his cheek, before the biting cold reminded him to get a move on before he lost his toes.

            He walked home with a small skip in his step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a bit of Jeankasa in this, but it is JeanMarco endgame (￣个￣)
> 
> EDIT 4/22/2019: I just realized I forgot to add the notes (non-spoiler) to the chapters
> 
> John Eckstein, Age 20
> 
> John: Variation/original form of the name Jean (French)  
> Eckstein: Edge, stone (German)
> 
> Culinary school student (pre-apocalypse).


	7. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tent flap suddenly opened, and Connor poked his head in. “Hey, guys, Stark says we’ve gotta meet in ohmygodyou’reshirtless.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pure, undiluted Yumikuri fluff. Revel in it.
> 
> And a bit of story, but nobody cares about that.

A loud bang echoed through the forest as the gun went off, a bullet tearing through the zombie’s shoulder. “Shit!” Louis fell back, scrambling to his feet again. “Cameron, hurry!”

            He grabbed onto the smaller girl’s hand, dragging her forwards as they ran. A rock soared over their head, nailing a zombie in the skull. Ailbert snatched another one off the ground, hurling it forwards, missing another one by inches.

            “Cameron, here!” Louis shoved Cameron forwards and grabbed onto a high branch of the tree, pulling himself up. Ailbert grabbed Cameron around the middle, boosting her up and letting her scramble for a hold, following Louis up the trunk. Ailbert reached up, one foot on the trunk, ready to follow his friends up –

            “Ailbert!” Cameron screamed as a pair of hands grabbed onto his boot, tugging him down. Ailbert shouted, lashing out. A large hand reached down, grabbing him, and he scrambled up to sit on the branch next to Cameron and Louis.

            “It got my boot,” Ailbert breathed, staring down as the zombie tore at his boot and began roaring, clawing at the bark of the tree.

            “They can’t climb, right?” Cameron asked, breathing heavily, holding onto a stitch in her side.

            Louis snapped the magazine of his gun open. “I’ve only got a few rounds left,” he said. “Not enough though – _sonuvabitch_!” There was a splintering noise as the zombie dragged its hands down the tree, nails cracking and pulling back, black blood oozing from destroyed fingers as it dragged at the trunk.

            “Shit,” Cameron hissed, pressing her fingers to a cut on her bicep.

            “Is it deep?” Ailbert asked, resting her his hand gently over hers.

            She winced. “Don’t know.”

            “No blood in it?”

            She shook her head. “I think it was from a branch.”

            Louis burst into a round of swearing as the zombie reached up. “They’re really not leaving, are they?”

            “Déjà vu, much?” Cameron muttered.

            “Don’t remind me.”

 

Ymir sat up with a sigh, arm sore. The reason was made immediately clear as she stared at the blonde using it as a pillow. She smiled, propping herself up one on arm, watching as Persephone’s chest rose and fell softly.

            _She’s here. She’s_ alive _._

            She continued watching Persephone in peaceful bliss until her fingers began tingling and her arm started to really go numb. “Her, Persephone,” she said. “Percy. Perc, wake up.”

            Persephone sighed, opening her eyes slowly, the brilliant sapphire blue sparkling in the – well, not sunlight, per se, but the dull light shining outside the tent.

            She kissed her on the tip of the nose. “Morning, Princess.”  
            “That’s Queen to you, peasant.” Persephone blinked the sleep out of her eyes, craning her neck to look up at Ymir as the older girl rolled over, propping herself over her girlfriend on all fours, running a hand through her blonde hair.

             “My apologies, Your Majesty,” she grinned cheekily, pressing a small kiss to the crown tattooed on the crook of her neck.

            Persephone laughed, as Ymir continued kissing up her neck. “Ymir, that tickles!”

            “Egads!” Ymir sat up, looking down at the smaller girl. “My evil plan has been foiled.” She raised Persepone’s right arm, placing a gently kiss to the butterfly on her wrist.

            Persephone blushed as she watched the topless Ymir and placed one hand on her thigh, feeling the taut muscles beneath her sweatpants and traced her other over the matching butterfly on Ymir’s own wrist. “Have I ever told you how lucky you are?” she murmured, smiling.

            “You don’t need to,” Ymir replied, grinning. “I’ve already said it so many times.” And, without further ado, she flopped on top of Persephone, smothering her.

            “Ymir!” Persephone shrieked, turning bright red, voice muffled in Ymir’s bosom. “Someone could walk in!”

            “Like anybody would,” Ymir said, but rolled off all the same. Persephone turned pink as she sat up, quickly tugging off Ymir’s (too her) oversized baseball tee and began fumbling around for a bra.

            “Loving the view!” Ymir called as Persephone tugged on a lacy yellow bralette.

            “Ymir!” Persephone squeaked again, blush reaching her ears as she pulled on a blue tank top and worked her way into a pair of leggings.

            “I could watch this all day,” Ymir crooned, sitting up and running a hand through her messy brown locks.

            “How are you not cold?” Persephone asked as she pulled on a hoodie.

            “Eh,” Ymir stretched out her arms, displaying her bare chest. “I don’t mind – it lets me feel the cool breeze on my underboob.” Persephone giggled as she laced up her boots.

            The tent flap suddenly opened, and Connor poked his head in. “Hey, guys, Stark says we’ve gotta meet in ohmygodyou’reshirtless.”

            “Grow up, Duffin,” Ymir snorted as Persephone tossed a tank top at her. “You act like you’ve never seen a pair before.”

            Connor rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Ugly. Command Tent in five, ‘kay?”

            “Aye aye, Baldy.”

            Ymir laughed as Connor zipped the tent shut, sitting up and grabbing a pair of ripped black jeans.

            “Here,” Persephone held out a pair of fishnet leggings.

            “Percy, it’s literally the zombie apocalypse. Nobody cares about fashion,” Ymir protested, but tugged them on all the same. “Jesus, you’re turning me emo.”

            Persephone tugged Ymir closer, grinning into her shoulder as she tightened her belt. “I think I was the most surprised that you weren’t emo already.”

            “I was just surprised that you owned so much leather,” Ymir purred, wrapping an arm around her waist as she stood up, tugging her into her lap. “Not that I mind,” she added, tugging down her hoodie and pressing her lips to Persephone’s bare shoulder.

            “Ymir – we need to get to Command –”

            “Let your brother have his aneurysm,” Ymir muttered, kisses trailing lower. “We’ll be fine.”

            Persephone giggled, but disentangled herself anyways. “Come on, you know Stark doesn’t invite us unless he really has to.”

            Ymir fake-pouted, but tugged on her boots. “ _Fine_.”

            There was a loud rustling as a snowball suddenly slammed into the side of the tent. “Hurry up, lovebirds!” Alex called. “Starks says move your asses or bloody murder!”

            Persephone stood up, tugging on her parka and tossing Ymir hers. “Come on –” Ymir grabbed her wrist, spinning her around and placing a soft kiss on her lips.

            Persephone smiled into the older girl’s lips. “Okay, enough stalling,” she said. “Let’s go.”

            “Do we _have_ to?”

            “ _Yes_.”

 

Ymir was still clinging onto Persephone when they walked into the Command Tent, and Stark rolled his eyes.

            “Nice of you to join us,” Alastair commented as the two plopped down on the ground next to John’s feet.

            “No problem, Commander,” Ymir grinned, tugging Persephone into her lap and plopping her chin on the top of her head.

            Stark’s eye twitched, and Hans rolled their eyes, grinning as they plopped down on the bed (messy and unmade, Ymir noticed). “So, what was this impromptu meeting about, oh Captain, my Captain? Should we be getting ready for a happy announcement?”

            “Shut the fuck up, four-eyes.”

            “We wanted to discuss the zombies yesterday,” Alastair said. “As well as our friend currently sleeping on the dining table.”

            “True,” Alex said, grabbing a chair and moving to sit at the table where a map was spread out, pinned down by thumbtacks. “But off John and Alex’s reports, the zombies are getting closer.”

            John nodded. “The place we picked up Harou was about an hour’s walk away from camp.”

            “Well, what do you want to do?” Persephone asked. “I mean, we’re fine taking down the zombies closer to camp right now, and we’ve got enough cans to last us until spring. Plus, Alex’s hunting.”

            “But that’s without any other added considerations,” Cato pointed out. “With Harou here, the food supply’s going to be stretched, and there’s an added risk of zombies finding us.”

            “Added patrols?” Rin suggested.

            “But that’s not without added risk on its own,” Stark said.

            “Alastair,” Hans said. “Do you have a plan, or did you just call us here to talk about our problems?”

            “No,” Alastair replied. “I had a thought. . . there’s always a chance that there’ll be other things – or people – thrown into the equation. It was a low possibility before, but Harou proved that it can still happen.”

            “Fuck Harou,” John grumbled.

            “What are you saying, Alastair?” Rin asked.

            Alastair’s eyes flashed. “We’re going back to the city.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oH mY! nEw chAraCteRs! whO cOUld tHey bE?
> 
> It should be pretty obvious, but try commenting some stuff anyways (WRONG ANSWERS ONLY).


	8. Ymir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Shit!” Ymir clamped her jaw shut, biting her lip as gasps filled the room and heads swivelled towards her. “I mean, uh, shoot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day? Does somebody have a fire extinguisher? Because I am on fire!
> 
> More fluff! <3
> 
> Also, behold! Hamilton cameos!

“Shit!” Ymir clamped her jaw shut, biting her lip as gasps filled the room and heads swivelled towards her. “I mean, uh, shoot.”

            Angelica shot her a nasty glare as she ushered the child standing in front of her to the side, grabbing a pack of baby wipes as she went, and Peggy sighed as she rolled a mop and bucket over.

            “Gross,” she winced, speaking quietly as she looked Ymir up and down. “That’ll start smelling soon.”

            Ymir scowled, grabbing the mop and slamming it on the ground. She bit back another cuss as more vomit splattered, sprayed by the motion. “Shuds,” she growled as Peggy knelt, gathering up the sick with a handful of paper towels.

            “I am never eating meatballs again,” Peggy shuddered.

            “I’m the one covered with it,” Ymir held back a gag as she dipped the mop back into the bucket. “Fuck this.”

            “Ymir!” Peggy hissed.

            “Shit, right.”

            “Oh, my god,” Peggy groaned. “Dude, you’re going to be in _so_ much trouble.”

            “Me? I’m the one who just had chunks blown all over me!”

            “Still,” Peggy winced as Ymir began mopping up more vomit. “You’ve already had, what, two infractions? There’s no way you’re getting off this time.”

            Ymir sighed.

 

“Cussing up a storm in the middle of Småland? With the entire room full, nonetheless?”

            Ymir winced as Eliza sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Listen, Eliza, I can explain –”

            “I know,” Eliza said, putting her head in her hands. “I know, but I can’t ignore this, Ymir. I’ve already had a whole host of complaints.”

            Ymir sighed, tugging off her nametag and placing it on the desk.

            “I’m sorry,” Eliza said. “You’re an excellent employee, and you have great work ethic –”

            “I know,” Ymir muttered, turning around. “Mail me the final paycheck, will you?”

 

Ymir growled, balling up her soiled IKEA shirt as she kicked her locker closed. _Shit_. She sighed, sitting down on the bench and running a hand through her hair. _Shit_. She tugged on her red tank top and tugged her hair over her shoulder, angrily yanking the strands into a braid. “Shit!” _Three minutes before my shift was over, too_. She groaned, ruffling her bangs angrily. The one time she’d decided not to flake out five minutes earlier – the one time!

            _At least in the Corps, the worst thing that could happen was me dying a bloody, painful death_ , she thought, pulling a thin jacket out of her backpack and tugging it over the flimsy top. “Fuck this,” she growled, stomping over to the sink, grabbing a paper towel. “Fuck me,” she added as she began scrubbing her splattered high-tops. “Gently. _With a chainsaw_.” She spat on the sneakers, pumping soap onto the soaked fabric.

            Her phone began buzzing, and she swore in ways that would have made a sailor recoil in horror, dropping the shoe in the sudsy sink, storming, sock-footed, across the room to turn off the alarm.

            “Shit!” she shouted for what felt like the thousandth time that day, slamming the phone on the counter. “No, shit, shit, _no!_ ” she screamed, slamming her fist on the counter as the phone shot from her soapy hand, flying into the sink. “ _Shit!_ ”

            _Fuck this day_.

 

“Welcome,” Ymir smiled through gritted teeth. _You little shit_. “What –” _the fuck_ “—is your order?”

            The man blinked at her. “Uh, small lime refresher, extra ice?”

            “Name?”

            “Jackson.”

            “Sure,” she grabbed a cup, scribbling _Jackass_ on it. _Less hassle for me, the entire thing’s practically all ice, anyways_.

            She slid the cup across the counter, then turned to the next customer.

            “Venti vanilla frappucino, with a shot of caramel?” the woman asked cheerfully.

            Ymir’s eye twitched. _Venti? What the fuck is a venti? Has nobody ever heard of normal sizes?_ “No problem!” she forced herself to grin. “Name?”

            “Bentley.”

            She scrawled _Bitchy_.

            “Hi!” Ymir’s eyes widened. “Could I get a medium hot chocolate, please?”

            Ymir’s jaw dropped. The girl in front of her tipped her head, furrowing her brow. “Um, are you okay?”

            Ymir nodded wordlessly as she stared at the girl in front of her. She was short, very short – but, of course, that didn’t surprise her. She was wearing a pair of ripped black jean shorts, and a pair of pastel purple Doc Martens over fishnet leggings. She had an iridescent purple jacket on over a black tank top with a graphic of a cat holding a knife, reading _I’m Small and Sensitive, But Also Fight Me_. Her shoulder-length blond hair was streaked with black, pulled to the side by a scrunchie the same color of her jacket, and WE Rafiki bracelets rattled on her wrists.

            “Uh,” Ymir cleared her throat. “Name?”

            “Persephone.”

            Ymir nodded, pen moving across the cup. “Okay, just wait there, Persephone.” _Persephone_. It was beautiful. _Like her_.

            She made the hot chocolate in a daze, piling the whipped cream a bit higher than she perhaps should have and dumping marshmallows perhaps a bit more generously than she should have, and even adding an extra dash of rainbow sprinkles. She cleared her throat as she walked up to the counter, heart pounding. “Hot chocolate for Historia?”

            Persephone looked up, pausing halfway as she took the hot chocolate from Ymir. “Historia. . ?”

            Ymir’s fingers brushed hers.

            Persephone’s eyes widened with a small gasp. The cup fell from her hand, splashing all over Ymir. “Ymir!”

            She collapsed, and only the swift action of the man standing behind her kept her from cracking her skull open on the edge of the counter.

 

Ymir sat next to Historia’s bed, rubbing a thumb over the younger girl’s knuckles (Persephone Valda, age 17 – she may or may not have peeked at her CareCard while the doctor checked her in).

            “Miss Cansuperbia?” Ymir looked up, dropping Persephone’s hand as a doctor walked towards them. “You brought Miss Valda in, right?”

            “Yeah,” Ymir said. “I mean, yes.”

            “I see,” the doctor nodded, flipping a page. “Are you her legal guardian?”

            “Wha – no!” Ymir spluttered. “Uh, I’m a barista. She passed out at Starbucks.”

            The doctor nodded. “Okay, so no relationship?”

            “Well –” Ymir hesitated.

            “If you don’t have any relations with her, I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Miss.”

            “I’m –”

            “My girlfriend.” Both Ymir and the doctor jumped. Persephone opened her eyes (still the same, brilliant, blinding blue), sitting up. She winced, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Ah, son of a bitch!”

            “Miss Valda, please, take it easy,” the doctor said. “You’ve just woken – girlfriend?”

            Persephone turned, locking her gaze with Ymir – the same bright, commanding gaze that had frozen Ymir, even when she’d still been sweet, kind Krista Lenz; the same eyes that had given her away even when she acted gentle and demure: burning, blazing, turning the common color into something not of this world. “Unless that’s changed, too?”

            _I could write poems for your eyes_.

            Ymir reached out tentatively, taking Persephone’s hand in her. The doctor made a small tittering noise. The girls ignored her.

            “Not at all,” Ymir smiled, reaching out, placing a hand on her cheek.

 

“Are you okay?” Ymir asked as they walked out of the E.R.

            “Hm,” Persephone winced, taking a shaky sip of hot water. “Better.”

            “Do you want me to walk you home?” Ymir offered.

            “That would be nice,” Persephone smiled into the cup. “So,” she said. “What are you doing these days?”

            Ymir chuckled. “Getting fired from IKEA and taking cute, passed out girls to the E.R., apparently.”

            Persephone giggled, winding her hand in one of the strings hanging from Ymir’s jacket, tugging her closer. “Hope you haven’t kissed any other of those girls,” she muttered, eyes closed, breath warm on Ymir’s lips. Ymir suddenly felt herself grow warmer than anytime she’d ever been inside her Titan.

            “Never,” Ymir muttered, inhaling, the sweet, lemony smell of Persephone’s shampoo.

            “I waited,” Persephone mumbled, lips barely brushing Ymir’s. “So many years. Even after that letter.”

            Ymir’s eyes drifted shut. “I’m sorry.”

            “Quite apologizing,” Persephone said. “And don’t keep me waiting any longer.”

            Ymir moved closer, pressing her lips against Persephone’s. The paper cup fell to the ground, water splashing over the pavement and Ymir’s shoes as Persephone wrapped her arms around Ymir’s neck. Ymir pressed closer, wrapping her own arms around Persephone, fisting her black-and-blonde hair in her hands, feeling the silky smooth strands, breathing in the light cherry smell of the smaller girl’s Chapstick.

            Ymir suddenly pulled away, frowning. “Is this legal?”

            Persephone laughed – a sweet, tinkling sound that sent the butterflies in Ymir’s stomach into a frenzy. “It’s a misprint on the birth certificate,” she said. “I turned eighteen two weeks ago.”

            “Oh.” Ymir blinked. “Okay.” She moved forwards again.

            “Ah –” Persephone brought a hand up, and Ymir suddenly found herself making out with Persephone’s palm – not that it was that bad. “You should probably get out of those, first,” she nodded at Ymir’s shirt and jacket, both still splattered with dried hot chocolate.

            “Oh, shit,” Ymir muttered, flushing. “Sorry.”

            “My fault,” Persephone said, standing on her tiptoes and pecking Ymir just over her chin, the furthest she could reach. “My apartment has a washing machine,” she added, quietly.

            Ymir felt herself turn three different shades of red at once. She opened and closed her mouth a few times words failing her. “Ah – mah – uh – wah – lah – um – washing machine?”

            Persephone giggled, and Ymir had to resist the urge to strip naked and dance on the roofs in joy. “Ah – mah – uh – wah – lah – um – _yes_.”

            It was the third time that day Ymir had been the victim of spills and splatters. But, this time, she didn’t mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Persephone's tank: https://www.lookhuman.com/design/348289-i-am-small-and-sensitive-but-also-fight-me-cat/6733-heathered_black-md  
> Persephone's jacket: https://www.forever21.com/ca/shop/catalog/product/f21/outerwear_coats-and-jackets/2000339933
> 
> Ymir Cansuperbia, Age 20
> 
> Ymir: Had name changed as child  
> Cansuperbia: Amalgamation of cans (pretender) and superbia (pride) (Latin)
> 
> Barista/ex-IKEA employee (pre-apocalypse), born with memories and just kind of accepted it.


	9. V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tell me, Harou!” Hans grabbed them by the shoulders. “How do we know? How do we know that zombies are just – to put it bluntly – dead men walking?”
> 
> “Um. . .” Harou stared at them as they shook them back and forth. “Pop culture?”
> 
> “Yes!” Hans threw their hands in the air, shoving Harou away. “Pop culture! It’s been ingrained into our minds, Harou!” They pirouetted, stopping with both feet on the ground, a finger on their temple. “It’s a stereotype, Harou! We think the zombies are dead because that’s what the Walking Dead and Game of Thrones has taught us! But it’s not true! It can’t be!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MOAR ZOMBIEEEEEESS!
> 
> Also, somebody help those poor children still stuck in that tree. What is this, Once On This Island?

“She sneezed, sniffling loudly as she did so, pulling her coat tighter as she shuffled closer to the warmth of her companions. There was a low growl from below as yet another zombie clawed at the trunk –”

            “Dude. What the fuck are you doing?”

            Ailbert sighed, looking down at the ground. “Narrating. Not like there’s anything better to do.”

            Louis rolled his eyes, shifting a bit, and, thus, prompting the other two to shift as well. “Fuck this,” he grumbled. “Fuck this all. I have never wanted my Titan powers back as much as right now.”

            “At least it’d be warm,” Cameron groaned, pulling her hood over her head.

            Louis’ butt suddenly began buzzing, and a cheerful tinkling noise rang through the forest. The zombies below teetered about, looking up with half-curious half-aggressive growls.

            “Oh, right,” Louis pulled his phone out of his back pocket. “ _Take control of your destiny! Play more Episode!_ ”

            “Of all the things to grab!” Cameron said for what felt like (to Ailbert and Louis) the millionth time. “ _Of all the things_ , and you grabbed your _phone_.”

            “And a solar charger!” Ailbert piped up.

            “Cell phones are essential towards everyday survival!” Louis protested. “What did you think we were going to do all day?”

            “Oh, I don’t know. . . _stay alive_ , maybe?”

            “Psh,” Louis scoffed. “We’re always going to have some down time.”

            “I even downloaded all the episodes of _Black Butler_ ,” Louis said. Cameron scowled. “I mean, can you think of anything else to do while we’re stuck up here?”

 

“You’re out of your goddamn mind,” Ymir snapped.

            “Ymir –” Persephone began.

            “No, I agree,” Connor crossed his arms. “We’re fine here, we don’t need to go back.”

            “The city’s a deathtrap,” Alex agreed. “If you think that there’s a lot of zombies here, you don’t even _want_ to think about how many you’d meet just walking down the street.”

            “Realistically speaking,” Alastair said. “How long do you think we can go off of our stores? Harou’s here, now, and there’s no guarantee that other people won’t pop in.”

            “I think I’d rather go a few days without canned tomato sauce than get torn limb from limb by a bunch of hungry corpses,” Stark said.

            “We could eat the dog,” Alex suggested.

            “We’re not eating Plum,” Stark snarled, hand flying to the handle of his knife. Alex raised her hands, muttering something about it being ‘just a joke, man’.

            “There’s also the probability of running into other people in the city,” Hans said.

            “What, like _the Walking Dead_?” John asked.

            “Exactly!” they pointed triumphantly.

            “There’s also a chance those people could help us,” Alastair said. “ _Think_ –”

            “No, you think,” Stark said. “This isn’t Paradis, we don’t have ODM to help our asses.”

             “We’ve got enough resources to last until spring,” Rin said. “And the chances of any other people finding us is next to zero.”

            Alastair raised an eyebrow, and Hans scratched the back of their head. “How’s this for an alternative?” they suggested. “We’ll wait a month – four weeks, twenty-eight days exactly – and if we’re still good by then, we put a block on this plan until January. But if we need it – really need it – by then, we’ll go.”

            Nobody said anything. Cato sighed. “All in favor?” he raised his hand. Alex, Connor, Ymir, Persephone, Hans, and John followed suit.

            “Guess that’s done,” Rin said, standing up. “Alright, I’m going to find Harou, now.”

            “ _Ooooh_ ,” Alex crooned, twisting around so quickly she fell out of her chair.

            “Going to find Eren?” Connor grinned, making kissing motions with his hands.

            “ _Oh, Eren, Eren!_ ” Ymir mimicked in a high falsetto, cackling.

            “Shut up,” Rin growled as she unzipped the flap.

            “ _Oh, Eren, I luuuurrrvve you_ –”

            “I said shut up!”

 

Harou shifted uncomfortably as he sat in his seat, Hans across from him. They had their chin resting on their hands, fixing him with the most intense stare he’d ever received in his current lifetime.

            “So, uh,” he cleared his throat. “Where are the others?” Rin had woken him up nearly an hour ago before she’d been called away by Connie (Connor – he’d kicked his shin).

            “Out,” Hans said, the camp lantern reflecting off their glasses.

            “Okay,” Harou said, shifting. _Shit, this is weird_. He ran through a string of things to say in his mind (most of them going along the lines of ‘I’m so sorry I was a humongous shit, please don’t dissect me’ and ‘I come in peace’), none of which he was willing to say aloud. So, rather than doing something stupid, he simply returned Hans’ stare. The scientist had changed, but not by much – they wore purple-framed glasses secured around their head with a neon green strap, wild strands of bright purple hair (it _had_ to be dyed) bunched up and poking out from beneath the strap, the rest tugged into a messy ponytail, a plastic rod stuck through it.

            “How do you think they work?” Hans suddenly asked, voice low.

            Harou blinked. “Sorry, what?”

            Quick as a flash, Hans had hurled themself across the table, grabbing the collar of Harou’s coat, tugging their faces closer together. “The zombies!” they screeched. “The revenants! Wights! _Qi si hui sheng de jiang shi!_ ”

            “Wha – Hans, what the hell?” Harou grabbed Hans’ hands. “What do you mean?”

            “How do they work?” Hans’ eyes were alight with that oh-so-familiar light, the nostalgic madman’s grin spreading across their face. “How do you think it works, Harou? Are they dead? Are they alive? Is it magic? Witchcraft? Science?” They jerked, and Harou jumped. “Oh, the possibilities. . .” their fingers continued twitching as they curled in on themself, muttering in a quick, low string of words. “Of course, there’s always the possibility that they’re an evolution of Titans,” they said. “The very existence of man-eating, brain-dead monsters suggest a connection between this world and that, even to the point of implying it to be the same one, or an alternate –”

            “Wait, wait!” Harou held his hands up. “Hold on, back up. _What_ did you say about Titans?”

            Hans’ head snapped up, grinning again. “Ah, yes!” they breathed. “Yes, _yes_ , you’re still curious, aren’t you?” They grabbed his hand, yanking him to his feet. “Come! I have _so_ much you should see! Oh, and before we go –” they suddenly whirled around, punching him in the stomach.

            “‘Pologies!” they said cheerfully as Harou crumpled with a loud wheeze. “Gotta give my due!”

            “No problem!” Harou gasped.

 

Harou followed Hans up the rope ladder to the treehouse perched high above the ground (arms still shaking, partially from Hans’ punch and partially from the exertion of climbing the ladder). “Did you guys build this?” he asked, hoisting himself up into the surprisingly warm space.

            “Nah, we found it,” Hans said, bustling around the room. Harou let his gaze wander as Hans fussed with papers and tourist guides. There were maps of all sorts (torn from tourism magazines, sketched on large pieces of paper, and printed out) pinned to the walls, Some had red pins in them, marking what Harou assumed to be places where zombie attacks had occurred, and a large green pin on where he assumed the camp was. There were detailed sketches of zombies pinned up as well, with sticky notes and strings pointing out certain details. A few books were piled on the ground next to a simple sleeping pad, a thick blanket thrown messily over the pad, and a space heater sitting on top of the books (well, that explained the warmth).

            “Had to fix it up a bit, but it’s surprisingly nice,” Hans said. “We decided to keep all of our research here. Overall, it’s the best place in camp.” They nodded at a rifle leaned up against the wall next to the pad. “Armed, too.” Harou nodded. Over the past weeks, he’d grown used to sleeping with one eyes open and a weapon within arm’s reach, if not in hand.

            “What research?” he asked.

            Hans shoved a notebook into his hands. “It’s all here,” they said, practically convulsing with excitement. “Oh, if you could even understand – I don’t think I’ve had so much fun since Sawney and Bean!”

            “I see,” Harou muttered, flipping through a few pages. “Shit, Hans, this is a lot of notes.”

            “I know!” Hans shrieked. “Here!” they grabbed the notebook. “Now, tell me, Harou – what is it that _you_ think the zombies are?”

            “I – well, everybody knows that zombies are reanimated corpses, right?”

            “Right!” Hans clapped their hands together excitedly. “And wrong!”

            Harou blinked. “What?”

            “Tell me, Harou!” Hans grabbed them by the shoulders. “How do we know? How do we _know_ that zombies are just – to put it bluntly – dead men walking?”

            “Um. . .” Harou stared at them as they shook them back and forth. “Pop culture?”

            “ _Yes_!” Hans threw their hands in the air, shoving Harou away. “Pop culture! It’s been ingrained into our minds, Harou!” They pirouetted, stopping with both feet on the ground, a finger on their temple. “It’s a _stereotype_ , Harou! We _think_ the zombies are dead because that’s what the Walking Dead and Game of Thrones has taught us! But it’s not true! It _can’t_ be!”

            “What are you talking about?” Harou asked, turning in circles as Hans danced around him.

            “Harou, my boy!” Hans stopped, leaning into their face. “Tell me, have you ever heard of Chronic Wasting Disease?”

            Harou leaned back. “I think so. . . isn’t it that zombie deer virus thing? I don’t know, we don’t have it in Germany –” he stopped, eyes widening. “You think that’s what caused this?”

            “Yes, yes, yes!” Hans grabbed them in a tight hug. “You know my thought process, Harou!”

            “But how?” Harou asked. “I thought it only affected the deer and elk and whatever?”

            “Aha!” Hans grabbed their arm, dragging them over to the wall. “Observe, friend!” they tapped the picture. “Tell me, what does this look like to you?”

            “. . . a zombie?”

            “Yes!” Hans exclaimed. “But not in the traditional sense, see. In pop culture, zombies have always been depicted as ‘rising from the dead’. But it’s just not possible!” They gave an excited little hop. “If that were really the case, the zombies wouldn’t be able to do anything to us at all! Even growl angrily!”

            “How?”

            “Rigor mortis!” Hans declared. “It begins within hours of death. Why, it’s so stiff you’d have to break the body’s bones to move the limbs at all!”

            “I guess that makes sense,” Harou said, looking at the sketch. “But, Hans, I still don’t get how the deer tie into this –”

            Hans tapped the notebook. “There was a case of zombie deer in Québec in September of 2018 – the only place we know for certain there are zombies so far, and, since we’ve gotten no help from any authorities, we can assume that that’s the case for most of the countries in our vicinity. Signs of chronic wasting disease include stumbling, aggressiveness, lack of coordination -- and it _eats holes into the victim’s brain_. Plus!” they said as Harou opened his mouth. “Some scientists believe that it _can_ be transmitted to humans, if the carcass of a zombie deer is eaten by a human. And who’s to say that the virus wouldn’t mutate when passed between species, turning that excess CWD thirst into hunger for human flesh?”

            Harou nodded slowly, closing the notebook. “So one guy got a bit too hungry and desperate. . .”

            “Kaboom!” Hans threw ther hands into the air.

            Harou continued nodding. “I think I get it.” He shook his head with a grim chuckle. “That’s deep, man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a deep, dark obsession with anything related to death, and that should be the first reason you bar me from the biology lab (although I have considered studying forensic pathology).
> 
> ciTe yOuR sOurCes:
> 
> ‘Zombie deer disease’ has spread to 2 provinces and 24 states: https://globalnews.ca/news/4970069/zombie-deer-disease/
> 
> 'Zombie Deer Disease' Is Infecting Animals Across the Country—Are Humans at Risk?: https://www.health.com/condition/infectious-diseases/zombie-deer-chronic-wasting


	10. Hange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Herbert frowned, kneeling and putting a hand on their child’s shoulder. “What were you going to play, bug?”
> 
> Hans’ gaze flicked to the side, lingering on the outline of a boxcutter, just visible under the soft, goose-down duvet. “Oh,” they smiled, light glinting off their glasses. “Nothing much.
> 
> “Just taking back what’s mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hange is scary psycho smol child.

The frog hopped from the lilypad onto the bank of the pond with a ribbit, stomach swelling. A fly buzzed by, slow and lazy in the heat of the summer, and the amphibian’s tongue shot out, grabbing the poor, unsuspecting bug. At the same time, a pair of grubby hands shot out, grabbing the moist, green creature around the middle. It let out a terrified ribbit, eyes bugging out.

            “Aha!” Hans lifted the frog to eye-level, grinning as it writhed in their grasp. “Caught you!”

            The frog croaked in horror.

            Hans laughed, standing up and running across the garden. Their muddy boots left messy brown footprints on the marble stairs and they charged through the glass doors, kicking their footwear off as they raced through the house.

            “Hans?” Zamiel poked his head out of the kitchen. “Hans, baby, what’ve you got?”

            “Nothing!” Hans chirped, shoving the frog into their pocket, stifling it’s croaks.

            Zamiel raised an eyebrow, but just shrugged, ducking back into the kitchen. “Dinner’s in half an hour!” he called.

            “Okay, Papa!” Hans raced up the grand stairs in the front hall and up another set of spiral stairs. They slammed their bedroom door behind them, tossing their dirty coat onto the silk duvet cover of their bed. They crawled onto it, standing up on the soft, squishy surface and reaching for the glass tank on the shelf over their carved headboard.

            They settled on the bed, crossing their legs and taking the frog from their pocket. They held it up to eye-level, grinning as its eyes continued bugging out. “Hi!” they said. “My name’s Hans!”

            It ribbited.

            They held it up, squinting as they peered at its face. Its eyes bugged in fear. “You,” they said. “Have very nice brown eyes. Almost golden, wouldn’t you say?” they spun in a circle, holding the frog out in front of them. “You look a lot like someone else I used to know! Okay!” They poked its belly. “I,” they said. “Am naming you Braun!” they dropped the frog into the tank, where the other one sat. “Braun,” they said, very authoritatively for a five-year old. “Meet Hoover!”

            The two frogs stared at Hans with identical looks of fear. “Don’t give me that look!” they scolded.

            “Hans?” Herbert knocked on the door peeking in.

            “Hi, Daddy!” Hans waved.

            “Papa says dinner’s read – what are those?” he zeroed in on the two petrified frogs in the tank on the bed. “ _Hans_ ,” he sighed. “What did we say about animals in the house?”

            “None,” Hans sighed. “But, _Daddy_ –”

            “Don’t ‘but’ me, you little rascal,” Herbert tutted. “Come on, let them out.”

            “But Braun and Hoover are my friends!”

            Herbert sighed, kneeling down next to Hans. “Hans, love, Braun and Hoover have their own friends outside, in the wild. I’m sure their families are missing them. Can you just imagine how their families must feel?”

            _Hange!_

            _Moblit! Moblit, no –!_

            _Destruction. Houses blown to bits by the sheer force of the destruction. Pieces of shrapnel were littered on the ground, a few still flickering with small flames when they pulled themself out of the well, left side of their face burning with pain and sticky with red. Their remaining eye widened at the carnage, and they reached forwards with shaky fingers, picking up a tattered piece of fabric, edges singed, the ripped blue and white wings stained with red._

            _Moblit?_

            “I know!” Hans said, grinning, and Herbert blinked. “We were just going to play, and then I was going to let them go back!”

            Herbert frowned, kneeling and putting a hand on their child’s shoulder. “What were you going to play, bug?”

            Hans’ gaze flicked to the side, lingering on the outline of a boxcutter, just visible under the soft, goose-down duvet. “Oh,” they smiled, light glinting off their glasses. “Nothing much.

            “Just taking back what’s mine.”

 

“I’m serious, Dr. and Dr. Wildegrube,” the tutor told them as they flipped through the pages of Hans’ work. “Hans is showing levels of comprehension beyond even some university students. I’m telling you, it would be a shame to keep him tied down for any longer. Normal work won’t help him get ahead.”

            “Them,” Zamiel muttered, brows furrowed. “And I know what you’re talking about. I didn’t start understanding these concepts until, what, halfway through first year of uni?”

            “What are you saying?” Herbert asked, going over Hans’ detailed human anatomy sketches. “You want us to send Hans to college early?”

            “That’s the basic idea,” the tutor said. “He – they can’t gain anything else from school, or even advanced tutoring. It’ll just hold them back. At university, however, they would be free to seek accelerated courses of study, as well as access to labs and materials they couldn’t be able to get from here. I know you have your own laboratories,” he said as Zamiel opened his mouth. “But I believe it would be beneficial for Hans to learn and research without his parents’ influences.”

            Zamiel placed a hand on Herbert’s knee, and they exchanged looks.

            “We’ll. . . talk about it.”

 

“What do you think?”

            “You know what I think.”

            “You have to admit it, babe, he’s right.”

            “Yes, but _university_?”

            “They need to grow on their own, love!”

            “But, well. . . I’m worried.”

            “Honey. . .”

            “You remember the frogs, right?”

            “Sweetie, all kids have their phases –”

            “That wasn’t a _phase_ , Herb, it was a future serial killer in training.”

            Silence fell. Hans shifted at the top of the stairs, resting their elbows on their knees as they got into a more comfortable position.

            “They won’t be far. We’ll still be able to see them all the time.”

            “They’re _fourteen_ , Herb. How many fourteen-year-olds know enough about human anatomy to be forensic pathologists? Or Jack the Ripper?”

            “Zamiel!”

            The silence fell again. Hans propped their chin up, watching the dappled shadows of leaves on the curved staircase railing.

            “In the end, it’s their choice,” Herbert sighed, and there was a shuffling noise. China tinkled, and he asked, “Do you want any more tea?”

            “I think I need a beer,” Zamiel muttered, standing up. Hans quickly got to their feet, rushing back into their room, socked feet padding lightly on the ground. They closed the door quietly, flicking off the light and flopping back onto their unmade bed.

            _In the end, it’s their choice_.

            They sighed, dragging the heels of their hands over their eyes, listening to the rustling of branches outside.

            _His only choice was to become the devil. . ._

            _He’s already dead._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT 05/07/2019: Hans' house: https://assets.bwbx.io/images/users/iqjWHBFdfxIU/i.MLYpJa9Rxg/v1/1000x-1.jpg
> 
> Hans Wildegrube, Age 24
> 
> Hans: Gift from God (German)  
> Wildegrube: Wild, untamed; hollow, pit (German)
> 
> Biologist (pre-apocalypse), born with memories


	11. VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She watched as the body of the woman crumpled to the ground, head rolling to the side, thick, almost jelly-like blood sliding from her severed neck. “There’s less blood, now,” she commented, wiping her blade clean on the woman’s shirt.
> 
> “They’re even deader,” Cato nodded. He looked up. “Hey, are you okay –?” his jaw dropped, eyes widening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just found out that I'm average height, and that makes me happier than it should.

“Hey,” Elvy muttered as Alastair wrapped his arms around the younger man, tugging him flush against him. “Don’t you have other shit to think of right now?”

            “Hm?” Alastair didn’t reply, running his hands through Elvy’s long, black locks.

            Elvy flicked the older man’s hand away. “ _Zombies_ , you horny old man.”

            “Zombies’ll still be there,” Alastair pulled Elvy towards the bed, sitting down with him on his lap. Elvy rolled his eyes. “Come on, Elvy, take pity on your poor, rejected Commander –”

            “You’re such a cheesy old sap,” Elvy grumbled, standing up again. Alastair whined pitifully. “What would the others say if they say you now?”

            “Nothing,” Alastair stood up with a sigh. “Elvy –”

            “ _No_.”

            “I didn’t even say anything!”

            “I knew what you were going to say,” Elvy snapped, leaning over the table and picking up a brochure of the park. “They’re right, going back to the city’s a literal death sentence.”

            “We don’t know that.”

            “What we do know,” Elvy said. “Is that the city was full of people, and most of them have got to have been turned.”

            “And the ones who weren’t?” Alastair wrapped an arm around Elvy’s waist, pulling him closer so that his face was level with the younger man’s collarbone. He pressed his face into his chest, breathing deeply, listening to his heartbeat. “There are bound to be people there who _weren’t_ turned. We could help them.”

            Elvy’s hands stilled on his shoulders. “Is this about them?” he asked. “Tim and Amaryllis?” Alastair didn’t reply. “Listen, Ali,” Elvy said, disentangling himself and sitting next to the older man, curling up against his side. “Tim and Amy were soldiers – good ones, too. They’re strong. And, plus, Tim would have smelled the trouble from a mile away.”

            Alastair wrapped an arm around Elvy’s shoulders. “I know,” he muttered. “But Amaryllis was pregnant – maybe she’d already given birth. Plus, they had a toddler. . .”

            Elvy sighed. “Worrying about them won’t help,” he said. “It’s not like it’ll magically summon them or something.”

            “Most of us have been lucky, kitten,” Alastair muttered. “We’ve got most of the gang back together, even Eren – Harou – now. But not everybody’s going to be so fortunate. Alex’s sister is still out there, somewhere, and Connor’s siblings. Rin’s parents, and Clay, too. And loads more I can’t even name.”

            “Fuck Clay,” Elvy muttered. “And, yeah, I’d be happier if we could find everyone, but it’s just not gonna happen.” He sighed. “‘N fact, with our luck, the only people we’re going to find are a bunch of Titan-Shifters falling from the sky or some shit.”

 

“You know,” Cato commented, moving a branch outside, grip tightening on his axe as he looked around cautiously. “It’s kind of funny, isn’t it?”

            “What do you mean?” Rin tensed, whirling around and raising her machete, pointing it at a squirrel.

            “I mean,” Cato said, bending over to look at the snowy ground. “We’re all here. What are the chances that all of us would end up at the same place at the same time, and then end up banding together again to survive what’s pretty much another version of Titans?”

            “Low,” Rin glanced up at the sky. “Really low.”

            “So, don’t you think it’s weird?” Cato frowned, spotting a patch of snow. “I mean, it’s almost like some sort of fanfiction cliché.”

            “Who knows?” Rin glanced over as Cato moved over to inspect the messy footprints. “Maybe it’s just history repeating itself.”

            “Yes, but _this_ perfectly?” Cato ran his fingers over the snow inside a footprint. “Frozen over,” he muttered to himself. “I mean, the only way I can think of all this happening is if we’re in some sort of alternating time loop, or if it’s something like fate –”

            “You actually believe in that sort of shit?” Rin interrupted, and Cato glanced up, raising an eyebrow.

            “Problem?” he asked. “What’re you so worked up about?”

            Rin sniffed. “I am not _worked up_.”

            Cato sighed, standing up and brushing snow off his pants. “Is this about Harou?” he asked. Rin didn’t reply. “I mean, we’re all pissed, but I really don’t see what harm he could do to us now. Unless he can control zombies, or some shit –”

            “Don’t say that near Hans, they’d go nuts,” Rin sighed, looking around. “I. . . I don’t know, Cato,” she finally admitted. “I mean, it just makes me think.”

            “‘Bout what?”

            Rin’s pale cheeks took on a light tinge of pink. “Well – I’m just thinking. Most people at camp have found their ‘people’. Partner, you know? And I was just thinking, well. . . do you believe in soulmates?”

            Cato frowned, rubbing the back of his neck. “I dunno, Rin. I mean, I guess it’s entirely possible. . . if what we experienced was our souls moving into new bodies, then I guess it’s just as likely –”

            “Quite!” Rin suddenly dropped into a battle stance, whipping his machete out in front of her. Cato tensed, raising his axe. “Do you hear that?” she whispered.

            Cato strained his ears. There were the sounds of growls from up ahead. “Zombies,” he whispered. “Pretty close.”

            Rin slowly raised a branch, moving the needles out from in front of them. They watched as two zombies clawed at the bark of a tree. Her gaze fell to a tattered boot by the trunk of the tree. “There are people in the tree,” she deduced. “Cato, if you move, can you grab the one closer to the boot?”

            “Not a problem,” the blond raised his axe as Rin crept off towards the side. Luckily, the zombies were distracted by the people in the tree. _Must be at least two_ , Rin thought.

            She made eye contact with Cato through the trees, and he nodded. They lunged forwards at the same time. Rin’s blade cut straight through the neck of the first zombie – a tall woman with thin, patchy dreadlocks that had been falling out, leaving scaly, red scalp behind, and mottled gray skin that might once have been a beautiful, dark color – as Cato slammed the blade of his axe into the face of the second zombie – a little boy, lips pulled back over rotted yellow teeth, fingers snapped backwards and coated with congealed black blood.

            She watched as the body of the woman crumpled to the ground, head rolling to the side, thick, almost jelly-like blood sliding from her severed neck. “There’s less blood, now,” she commented, wiping her blade clean on the woman’s shirt.

            “They’re even deader,” Cato nodded. He looked up. “Hey, are you okay –?” his jaw dropped, eyes widening.

 

Ailbert jumped as the two people shot out of nowhere. The first one, a young woman with a black braid, whipped her machete through the air, taking off the head of one of the zombies while the other – a young man with blond hair pulled into a short ponytail – hit the other one in the face with an axe.

            “Can you tell who they are?” Cameron muttered, looking down.

            Louis shook his head. “Just beanies. . . shit, they look familiar. Can’t place it.”

            “There’s less blood, now,” the woman commented, wiping the congealed substance off her blade and tucking it back into her belt in a manner that seemed, to Ailbert, way too familiar.

            “They’re deader,” the man agreed. He looked up, and Cameron nearly had a heart attack. “Hey, you okay –?” His eyes, a shade of blue to rival the sky, widened as his mouth dropped open.

            “Oh, my god,” Ailbert whispered, pale.

            The woman looked up, black eyes widening, mouth falling slightly open. “Reiner?” Mikasa asked. “Bertolt?”

            “ _Annie?_ ” Cato gaped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My son found his waifu. We may now rejoice.


	12. Erwin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alastair nodded as the door shut, then let out a sigh, pressing both his hands to his forehead. _Just another speech_ , he thought. _This is nothing. Like, literally nothing. It’s not even a major one, just a tiny little debate. It doesn’t even have any impact on anything else. It’s the national dart tournament, two percent of the population watched it._
> 
> He knew that. So what was this twisting, sickening feeling in his gut? He felt like he was about to do something horrible. _It’s just a speech_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BEEP BEEP! MY SON HAS LANDED! MAKE WAY FOR THE KING OF SIDE PROFILES!

“Mr. Faber!” Cynthia rushed into the room. “Sir, are you ready?”

            “Ready as I’ll ever be,” Alastair smiled as he adjusted his cufflinks. “I must say, you’re looking more nervous than I am.”

            Cynthia huffed. “You’re about to go up on a podium and make a speech to the entire country. If anything gets wrong, you get shamed, and I get in trouble.”

            “All right, point taken,” Alastair fixed his tie, glancing in the mirror, feeling the dark green silk under his fingers. “Thank you, Cynthia.”

            She rushed out the door. “Twenty minutes!” she called.

            Alastair nodded as the door shut, then let out a sigh, pressing both his hands to his forehead. _Just another speech_ , he thought. _This is nothing. Like,_ literally _nothing. It’s not even a major one, just a tiny little debate. It doesn’t even have any impact on anything else. It’s the national dart tournament, two percent of the population watched it_.

            He knew that. So what was this twisting, sickening feeling in his gut? He felt like he was about to do something horrible. _It’s just a speech_.

            _Maybe it’s just stage fright_ , he thought. He recalled his friend Don telling him how it felt once. _Yeah, that’s gotta be it. I mean, I’ve never had it before, but there’s a first time for everything, right?_

            He winced, rubbing his temple as he began muttering his speech under his breath, head throbbing. _If only this damned headache would go away_. . .

            “Sir,” Cynthia poked her head back in, and Alastair dropped his hands. “Not to rush you, but, _get on the goddamn stage_.”

            Alastair chuckled as he followed her out. “Okay, okay.”

            “Thirteen minutes!” she said before rushing off again.

            _Thirteenth_. . .

            Alastair sighed, adjusting the collar of his blazer as he moved to stand near the stage, watching as the players hurled their darts. “I’d like to thank everybody for coming out today. . .” he muttered under his breath, glancing at his watch.

            _I would like you all the consider this seriously_. . .

            He winced as another throb tore through his skull. “Please join me in a round of applause for everybody who did so wonderfully today. . .”

            _And join us in our pursuits for freedom beyond the Walls_. . .

            “Our –”

            “Mr. Faber,” Cynthia whispered. “Stop whispering like a creep and get up there.”

            Alastair glanced at his watch in surprise, seeing that ten minutes had passed in the time since he’d began practicing his speech. _What in the world?_ He frowned. _Did I pass out or something?_

            “ _Mr. Faber!_ ”

            “Of course,” Alastair said, composing himself. He buttoned the top button of his blazer as he stepped out onto the stage. There was a round of clapping, and he smiled. “Hello,” he said into the microphone. “Thank you all for coming out today. My name is Alastair Faber. First off, I’d like you all to join me in a round of applause for all the players who did so wonderfully today.”

            There was another round of less enthusiastic, but nevertheless polite, claps, Alastair joining in. He blinked, and, for a moment, the audience of bored-looking middle-aged people in polo shirts and excited grandpas blurred, shimmering like a mirage.

            _His stage was outside, lit by torches in the dark of night, the embers drifting through the air, orange light mingling with the silver of the starlight. Faces stared up at him, young, too young, full of fear and determination_.

“Now, before I announce the champions, I would first like to thank the sponsors for this tournament,” Alastair looked to the side, where a group of sleepy-looking businessmen in suits stood, trying their hardest to look happy (Alastair resisted the urge to rush over to them and give them empathetic pats on the back). “Please put your hands together again for them.”

_Offer up your hearts!_

Alastair blinked as the sound of tired clapping changed, going from a light, slapping, pattering noise to a series of loud thuds of fists knocking against solid muscle.

_This is a true salute!_

_Yes, sir!_

“Now, for the winners.”

 _We_ will _win this war_.

“First, honourable mentions. . .”

 _They died brave, honourable deaths_.

“And in third place, we have. . .”

_We can’t afford to lose a third time!_

“Second. . .”

_A second Titan Shifter?_

“And, in first place, we have. . .”

_This is Humanity’s first victory!_

“Once again, I’d like to thank everybody for coming out today,” Alastair finished into the microphone, smiling demurely, the picture of pleasant calm, despite the fact that sweat was beading on his forehead, his head was spinning, the room twisting and warping around him, faces changing features, blood from phantom wounds staining the crisp Sunday clothes, expressions of boredom turning into abject terror even as he watched. “And, please remember that voting will be from the seventh to the twelfth at select public areas. You _can_ make a difference.” He stepped back, somehow managing to stay upright even though he felt like falling to his knees and screaming, head reeling, heart racing faster than. . . _something_.

_Commander Erwin! Titan spotted!_

_Commander!_

Yeah, that.

Another polite round of applause followed the end of Alastair’s speech, and he turned to walk off the stage, smiling at Cynthia as she shot him a thumbs-up. He glanced at the banner for the tournament as he walked past, noting that it was lopsided.

            _Why are the shortest and tallest people in the group holding the map?_

            _Come on! It’ll be hilarious!_

            _This is a military recruitment presentation._

            _Yeah! It’ll be hilarious!_

            The moment Alastair was alone in the hallway, he broke into a run, polished dress shoes pitter-pattering against the tile floor, stumbling and crashing into the walls as he all but fell into the bathroom, crashing through a stall door. He fell to his knees, not even thinking to lock the door behind him as he grabbed the sides of the toilet, hoisting his face over the bowl, ignoring how horrible the room smelled, hacking and gagging as he lost his lunch in the filthy water.

            _Humanity will never stop fighting itself._

_Is this another gamble of yours?_

_I would like to tell you a story from my childhood. . ._

_Shinganshina district. . ._

_My soldiers!_

_. . . Titan powers?_

_If you begin to regret, you’ll dull your future decisions and let other people make choices for you._

_Beyond the Wall. . ._

_All squads assemble!_

_I’m making the choice._

_Commander Erwin!_

_Sir!_

_Commander!_

_Scream!_

_Erwin?_

_Hey, Erwin!_

_Rage!_

_My name is Erwin Smith._

_Commander Erwin Smith, of the Survey Corps._

_. . . upon which I now stand_.

            He stood up weakly, resisting the urge to wipe his mouth on his blazer sleeve as he reached forwards with a shaky hand, flushing the toilet. He stumbled out of the stall, stopping by the sink and grabbing the edges, holding himself over it, breathing slow and hard, acidic taste heavy in his mouth, back of his throat burning.

            He flipped the tap on, reaching forwards with shaky hands and cupping them beneath the stream of clear water – thank god for the country’s clean taps. He took a huge gulp of it, gargling and swishing it around in his mouth before spitting it out into the sink, wincing at the discoloration. He did it a few more times until the taste was gone from his mouth, then took a paper towel, wetting it and dabbing at his mouth, wiping off the stains. He finished off by splashing his entire face and drying it off with a paper towel, then tucking a few stray hair back into place. He smiled into the mirror, pleased to find himself looking just as he did on the Senate website and every other political campaign poster.

            He sighed, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, head spinning.

            _You must promise me, Erwin. Whatever you do, you must never tell anybody about this_.

            He opened his eyes. “Father.”

 

Alastair brushed imaginary lint from his blazer as he left the bathroom and walked up the steps. He took a deep breath before exiting the building, shooting cameras polite smiles even as he rushed through the crowd towards his car. He leaned in, slamming the door as the driver shot off.

            “Home, sir?” Greg glanced into the mirror.

             Alastair nodded. Greg frowned. “Are you okay, sir? You’re looking a bit pasty.”  
            “Just a bit tired,” Alastair lied smoothly, checking his phone. “Not enough to eat, I’d guess.”

            “There’s a nice little café and teashop on south of Main Street,” Greg offered. “Pretty close to your place.”

            “That would be nice, Greg,” Alastair said. “You can just drop me off here. I’ll walk.”

            “You sure, sir?” Greg asked, slowing down and pulling to the side of the curb.

            “Yes, please. Send me the address,” Alastair said as he got out of the car. “Have a nice day.”

            “You too, sir.”

            His phone pinged a few seconds later, and he glanced down at the name of the teashop. _In Stark Contrast. Interesting_. He opened his contacts, scrolling down until he found the name he was looking for. He hesitated before pressing the number and holding the phone up by his ear. He held his breath as it rung a few times, and exhaled when someone picked up.

            “Hello?”

            “Father?”

            “Ali!” he heard the smile in Tenzin’s voice. “How are you, son? I just saw your speech on TV – you did great.”

            “Thanks, Dad,” Alastair smiled as he walked down the street.

            “So, what’s up?”

            “Nothing,” Alastair lied. “Just wanted to check in, see how you’re doing.”

            Tenzin chuckled. “Well, don’t make it sound like I’m some decrepit old man. If anything, I should be checking up on you, son.”

            Alastair laughed. “I guess that’s true.”

            “Say, son,” Tenzin said, and Alastair heard that the tone was muffled – he’d probably put the phone on his shoulder while he shuffled some papers. “If you really want to check up on me, why don’t you come over for dinner this weekend? Been a while since you’ve gotten a chance to pop back home.”

            “I’ll see what I can do,” Alastair said, stopping by the door of the café. “But that sounds great. Hey, Dad, I need to go now.”

            “No rest for the wicked, huh?” Tenzin sighed. “All right, son. Don’t work yourself to hard, okay?”

            “Got it. See you, Dad.”

            “By, Ali.”

            Alastair sighed as he pocketed the phone and opened the door. “I need a drink,” he muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what you're doing, Erwy, but you don't go to a teahouse for alcohol.
> 
> **STOP. FREEZE. There is an Eruri short story set right after this segment of the fanfiction, that you can read right here:** https://archiveofourown.org/works/18822985
> 
> EDIT 05/14/2019: I posted this when I was sleep-deprived and hungry and forgot to add the info.
> 
> Alastair Faber, Age 27
> 
> Alastair: Defender of man (Scottish)  
> Faber: Variation of the surname Smith, meaning some sort of smith (Latin/French)
> 
> Politician (pre-apocalypse). Born and raised wherever the hell the story’s set (Canada). Remembered past halfway through campaign speech (still managed to get through the speech and get a round of applause, because he’s awesome)


	13. VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “They killed so many –”
> 
> “So did Eren!” Cato said. “So did _we_! How are they different?”
> 
> “Cato, stop!” Cameron said. Both Rin and Cato turned to look at her. “We’ll be fine,” she said quietly. “Just. . . we’ll go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hey, look, it's my children.

Rin hesitated for less than a second. Cato had barely been able to react before she’d whipped her hand into her pocket and was poised to hurl a blade towards the trio.

            “Rin, wait!” Cato grabbed her arm, pulling it towards him, and the knife embedded itself into the tree, inches from Reiner’s (what was his name now?) face.

            “Holy shit,” Reiner whispered, staring at the knife.

            “What are you doing, Cato?” Rin snarled, reaching for another one. “Let go!”

            “Rin, stop!” Cato wrapped his arms around Rin’s – it wouldn’t be much, as, even without her supernatural strength, Rin was still stronger than average. But it would be enough to risk him getting his stomach ripped open, therefore stopping the girl.

            Rin stopped, falling limp, glaring fiercely up at the tree.

            “I can’t believe it,” Annie muttered. “It’s really them.”

            “Better believe it, _bitch_ ,” Rin snarled, tugging her arm away from Cato. “What the hell are you doing here?”

            “Trying not to die,” Reiner called down. “You know, as you do.”

            Rin sneered. “Doesn’t feel so nice once you’re being chased, huh?”

            “Mikasa –” Bertolt began.

            Rin let out a dry laugh, turning away. “You handle this, Cato,” she said, arm shaking as she gripped her machete. She shot the zombies a look. “Should’ve left them alive,” she muttered. “They don’t deserve to live.”

            Cato watched as Rin stalked to another tree, twirling her knife angrily. He looked back up to where the three people huddled. For a moment, their faces flashed, changing from the terrified looks of a trio trapped and defenseless to the cold expressions of blood-soaked Titans. He saw a massive red fist crushing the top of a fifty-meter wall, and he saw a plated giant crashing through the gates of another. He saw a massive pink hand reaching towards him, fingers of bone lifting his hood, angular jaw and defined nose, sky-blue eyes sparkling with cold glee.

            He turned his face away, clenching his fists. “Are you all right?” he finally called up. Bertolt blinked in surprise.

            “Bert lost a boot,” Reiner called. “And Cam – Annie’s got a scratch. Nobody’s infected.”

            “Okay,” Cato frowned at the tree branches. “Can you get down?”

 

Rin watched from the corner of her eye as Reiner – Louis – let Bertolt – Ailbert – lean on his shoulder, unbooted foot in the air as Cato checked Annie – Cameron’s cut.

            “Doesn’t look bad,” he said. “A band-aid should be fine.” She nodded, not meeting his eyes.

            Rin scowled, walking forwards. The other three flinched back, Bertolt raising a hand, seemingly instinctively. He lowered it from his mouth almost immediately, looking guilty, but Rin didn’t care. She glowered at them darkly before turning to Cato.

            “Let’s go. We’re late.”

            Cato turned to her, surprised. “Rin,” he said. “We can’t just leave them here.”

            “Yes, we can, and we will,” she snapped. “Our supplies are already stretched, with –” she stopped herself with another scowl. “Come _on_.”

            “Rin –!”

            “It’s okay, Cato,” Cameron said quietly. “You’ve already helped us. We can go back to the city, now.”

            Cato turned around, eyes wide. “What? Are you insane? The city’s a death trap! There’s gotta be thousands of zombies walking around there!”

            “What do you care?” Rin spat. “As far as I’m concerned, they deserve nothing less than to get torn apart – _again_ ,” she added, glaring venomously at Bertolt.

            “Mikasa,” he tried again, looking pained.

            “Save it,” she snarled. “Cato!”

            “Rin!”

            “Cato,” Cameron said again. “We’ll be fine.”

            “Nobody asked you, Titan bitch,” Rin hissed, and Cameron flinched, as if struck. “I might as well be doing you a _favor_ , leaving you to get torn limb to limb. You’d get worse if you came back with us – there’s nobody there who’d treat you kindly.”

            “Rin, they’ll die!” Cato said.

            “ _Does it look like I care?_ ”

            “It’s fine, Cato,” Ailbert said. “She’s right. We shouldn’t go with you.”

            Cato frowned, and Rin huffed. “Looks like beanpole finally got a mind of his own,” she growled, whirling around. “Come on, Cato.”

            “But –”

            “Why do you even want to help?” Rin hissed. “Remember what they did? How can you even stand to know that they’ll walk away scot-free?”

            “Remember what Eren did?” Cato shot back, and the dark-hair girl scowled, grip tightening on her knife. “But you’re fine with him being in camp! Why are they different?”

            “They killed so many –”

            “So did Eren!” Cato said. “So did _we_! How are they different?”

            “Cato, stop!” Cameron said. Both Rin and Cato turned to look at her. “We’ll be fine,” she said quietly. “Just. . . we’ll go.”

            Cato watched Rin as the trio walked away, Ailbert still hopping on one foot. “Mikasa,” he said suddenly, and Rin reached for the handle of her blade. “I – we’re sorry. We didn’t mean. . . well, we never thought that –” he lowered his head, turning away and following Cameron, who stood a few feet away.

            Rin ground her teeth. “Oh, what the hell,” she hissed, and the trio froze.

            Cato turned to look at her, eyes wide. “Rin?”

            Her eyes were squeezed shut, lips pursed. “Come on,” she growled, and the trio looked at her. “Well?” she snapped. “What are you waiting for?”

 

“Rin, wait,” Cato whispered as they approached camp. “Rin!”

            Rin glanced at him. “What?”

            Cato held his arm out, stopping Cameron, Ailbert, and Louis. “ _Them_ ,” he said. “Remember who’s in camp?”

            Rin frowned. “Oh, shit.”

            “What?” Louis asked, looking between them. “Who’s in camp?”

            Rin cleared her throat as Cato coughed into his fist. “Well,” he said. “Uh. . . everyone?”

            Cameron paled and Ailbert squeaked. “Everyone?”

            “Jean, Sasha, Connie, Krista, Ymir, Marco, Erwin, Levi, Hange, us, and a dog,” Rin monotoned. Cameron looked ready to pass out.

            “Okay,” Cato rubbed his temples with his fingers. “Okay, here’s the plan. We’ll go in first, and they can stand behind us.”

            Louis raised an eyebrow. “And then. . ?”

            “If things go to shit, run for your motherfucking lives.”

            “Oh. Okay.”

 

Cato steeled himself as he moved the curtain of needles. Charles glanced up from where he stood at the foot of a tree, talking to Alex. “Hey, Cato,” he said. “You’re late. Did you run into any trouble –” he paled, eyes widening as Ailbert, Louis, and Cameron walked in behind him. “Oh, my god,” he whispered.

            Alex glanced up, then jumped to her feet, eyes wide. “Fucking hell.”

            “Oh,” Cameron said quietly, and Cato glanced at her.

            “ _No_ ,” Louis hissed.

            “Wait, hold on!” Cato said, waving his hands frantically. “Calm down!”

            “Holy shit,” Alex scrambled to her feet, fumbling for her rifle. “Holy shit. Holy, motherfucking, flying _shit_.”

            “Sina’s tits,” Charles whispered.

            Rin sighed, shooting Cato a pointed look. Alex’s jaw was opening and closing wordlessly, and Charles looked ready to pass out. “Told you.”

            “Marco?” Cameron’s eyes were bright with unshed tears, and her hand shook on Louis’ arm. “I – oh, _shit_.”

            “What the hell’s going on?” Elvy had poked his head out of the Command Tent, frowning. “Rin, what’s happen –” his eyes widened as they fell on Cameron. She paled.

            She knew who he was. Of course she knew.

            “Elvy, no!” Cato dove in front of Cameron as Elvy dove towards them, whipping a hunting knife out of the sheath on his belt, holding his crossbow out in front of him. “Wait –

!” He was thrown to the side, tumbling through the snow as Elvy shoved him out of the way, blade raised, arrow leveled, eyes wild with fury.

            “ _No!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Episode 53: *exists*
> 
> Me: (இ﹏இ`｡)


	14. Mikasa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rin sighed as she put on her helmet, vaulting gracefully onto her bike. She narrowed her eyes against the breeze as it rushed against her, wheels whirring as she pedalled down the street. The end of her new red scarf fluttered in the wind as she did a small wheelie, bike clattering as she moved off the sidewalk, landing in the bike lane on the street.
> 
> _When. . ?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #iwrotethisinsteadofstudyingformyveryimportanttestsorpracticingformyrecitalonsaturdayi'msoresponsiblewow

Rin vaulted off her bike before it had even fully stopped, chaining it up quickly before rushing into the studio, panting, face red, hair flying this way and that.

            “Miss Stark,” Terry glanced up as she kicked her shoes off in the front. “Late again?”

            “Sorry,” Rin gasped, pushing strands of hair behind her ears. “I got out of school late –”

            “Couldn’t even bother to change, could you?” Terry remarked drily, and Rin flushed at the sound of a few hastily stifled giggles. “Put your gi on.”

            Rin nodded, still pink as she slipped into the changeroom, tugging off her skirt and tie, working herself into the stiff white fabric of her uniform. She sighed, glancing into the mirror as she tugged her hair into a hasty braid. _Get yourself together!_ she chided herself as she pulled on her mat shoes. _No wonder Elvy makes fun of you all the time!_

            “Nice of you to join us,” Terry remarked as Rin rushed into her place at the end of the line. “All right,” he said. “Pair up and begin practicing,” he said. “Whatever techniques you want. Go!”

            “What happened at school?” Ryan asked as he and Rin moved to the side of the dojo. The tips of Rin’s ears turned pink as they moved into fighting stances.

            “Uh,” she shifted to the side as Ryan aimed a sharp punch. “I was talking to Oak in class –” Ryan made a few kissing noises. “Shut up,” she snapped, dodging him again. “And Mason started making fun of us.”

            “I would, too,” Ryan said, easily ducking Rin’s kick. “So why’re you late?”

            “I punched him.”

            Ryan snorted, grabbing her arm and wrenching her forwards. She gasped as her back hit the ground, air being knocked about in her lungs. “So?” he asked, pinning her arm down. “You’re weak as hell,” he smirked, and she rolled her eyes. “Did they actually keep you behind just for that?”

            “Yes,” she snapped, moving to sit up. Her head suddenly spun, and the dojo flashed before her eyes, the painted white walls and pipes on the ceiling turning into logs, stacked up to make the walls of a cabin and wooden rafters.

            “Rin?” she blinked to find Ryan kneeling in front of her, frowning. “You good?”

            She nodded, scrambling to her feet. “Yeah, fine,” she said, nodding quickly. “I, uh, didn’t drink water today.”

            Ryan rolled his eyes, holding out his water bottle for her. “Honestly,” he said as she took a quick sip before scrambling to her feet. “I don’t know how you haven’t lost your head yet.”

            Rin snorted as she got back into a stance, facing him. “I’m not _that_ bad.”

            “Yeah. And Elvy’s tall.”

            Rin giggled. “Don’t say that in front of him. He’ll turn you into a pancake.”

            “Yeah – how are you two related again?” Rin stuck her tongue out at him.

            “Rin, Ryan!” Terry called. “Less chatter, more practice!”

            “Sorry!” Rin said. “Okay, let’s go,” she said, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

            “Oh, my god, can she not?” she heard Andrea whisper.

            _Can you believe her?_

            “I know, right?”

            _Who knows? She’s probably got some top-secret training regime_.

            “She’s been a white belt for three years, hasn’t she?”

            _Three years of blood, sweat, and tears_. . .

            Rin winced as Ryan tossed her over his shoulder, dropping her in a crumpled pile on the ground. “Ow,” she grumbled. “Jerk.”

            Terry clapped his hands and the commotion stopped as the people turned around to look at him. “Get in a circle,” he said. “We’ll see what you’ve been doing in the past few minutes.

            “R squared,” he said, pointing at Rin and Ryan. “You first.”

            Ryan winced, giving Rin an apologetic look as they walked into the centre of the circle. Ryan bent his knees slightly, holding his fists up in front of him.

            Rin blinked again, and the room wavered in front of her, Ryan’s brown hair turning blond, his face turning into that of a teenaged girl with a bold nose, blue eyes ice-cold and piercing.

            She blocked his punch with her forearm, breath coming out in sharp bursts, eyes wide as she stared at his hand.

            “Rin?” he frowned as she dropped her arm, stepping away, shaking. “Rin, you okay?”

            “I –”

            _Y – you have really pretty hair._

            _We all get you love him, but –_

            _– monsters –_

_Get with the rearguard!_

            _It’s fine._

            _Are you hurt?_

            _What happened –_

            _We’re gonna have to take him down._

            _Fight!_

            She stumbled as she turned, running out of the studio, ignoring Ryan and Terry’s shouts as she crashed through the door, stumbling into the side alley and collapsing to her knees. She retched as she hacked up her lunch, the vomit splattering in front of her, but, remarkably, leaving her gi clean.

            _Fall._

            _Where’s Eren?_

            _It’s happening again –_

            _Where do babies come from?_

            _This world is cruel –_

            _Fight!_

            _Come out._

            – _merciless –_

            _If I win, I live –_

            _Take a deep breath._

            _I’m sorry. . ._

            _It’s pointless!_

            _Look at Ackerman –_

            _Are you gonna finish that?_

            _We have to save him!_

            _Eren’s been kidnapped again!_

            _Now, Mikasa!_

            _Fight!_

            _Mommy?_

            _You’re Eren’s friend –_

            _I’ll wrap that scarf around you –_

            _We’re family now –_

_Sasha farted, sir!_

            _Mikasa, wait!_

            _Mikasa!_

            _Stand down, Ackerman!_

            _Ackerman!_

            _Hold on, Mikasa!_

            – _but beautiful_.

            She got to her feet slowly, legs shaky and leaned against the wall, breathing in and out slowly.

            “Rin?” Ryan asked as Rin walked back in. “Rin, are you okay –”

            Rin moved faster than anybody could see, grabbing Ryan’s outstretched arm, flipping him over her shoulder, pinning him down. He shouted as his back landed on the ground, and hissed in pain as she jerked his arm sharply.

            She stood, eyes dull. She looked at Terry, and, for a moment, he became a tall, bald-headed man, with haunted, wrinkled eyes.

            “I win.”

 

“Rin, are you sure?” Himari asked, glancing up from the forms she was signing as Rin pulled on her bag, brushing a strand of hair that could not fit in her tight braid behind her ear. “I’m not sure if they’ll let you wear that with the uniform.”

            “It’s fine, Mom,” Rin said, frowning as the lock of hair fell back in front of her face. She pushed it aside again.

            “It’s getting pretty hot,” Himari said. “Do you really want to wear it?”

            “It’s fine, Mom,” Rin said, glancing back over her shoulder and shooting Himari a shaky smile. Himari frowned, but didn’t say anything as the door slammed behind Rin.

            Rin sighed as she put on her helmet, vaulting gracefully onto her bike. She narrowed her eyes against the breeze as it rushed against her, wheels whirring as she pedalled down the street. The end of her new red scarf fluttered in the wind as she did a small wheelie, bike clattering as she moved off the sidewalk, landing in the bike lane on the street.

            _When. . ?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking of splitting this story up in to two parts: this part, which is them slumming it in the forest and a bunch of exposition, and the other part for when they eventually go back to the city, which is going to have some more this-life stuff. What do you think?


	15. DO IT RIGHT THIS TIME IS BEING REWRITTEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD DON'T KILL ME

**BEEP BEEP! PULL UP! THIS IS NOT AN UPDATE!**

Do It Right This Time is being rewritten! Unfortunately, I've lost some of my fire for this story lately, and I really don't want to upload stuff that I'm not satisfied with, partially because I don't want to give you guys sub-par work, and partially because that would make me feel pretty shitty, too ┐(´ー｀)┌

If you read some of my other works, you'll know that I've been on a bit of a purge, going through all of them and rewriting them. So, good news: if you're an Eruri shipper and like the idea of a ship-centric reincarnation fic, then that's exactly what's going to be happening!

The new plot of Do It Right This Time will  _not_ include zombies, and will be mainly Eruri centric. They will keep their original names, and the plot will be basic af :) Fun!

If you're still here, thanks for that (･ω･)b Stay posted!

**Author's Note:**

> I might be posting some ficlets/one-shots about the individual characters that don't fit into the main story. LMK if you want that :)


End file.
